


Bright Darkness

by used_songs



Category: Canterbury Tales - Geoffrey Chaucer, Torchwood
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-09-06
Updated: 2010-09-06
Packaged: 2017-10-11 13:08:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 35,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/112742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/used_songs/pseuds/used_songs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A trip to London ends up being a far longer journey than expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Where are our sweet friends now? Where are their beloved faces? …. What abyss swallowed them? Once we were all together, now we are quite alone …. Even as we speak we too are drifting apart, and we vanish like shadows." – Francesco Petrarch, Letters on Familiar Matters, May 1349

Prologue

"I still don't understand why we all had to come down to London," Gwen said absently, but she smiled as she examined the bit of steak on her fork. "This is really good." She put it in her mouth and sighed happily.

"Did you have plans with Rhys?" asked Tosh

"No," said Gwen. "But I wanted to meet with the caterer about the wedding luncheon. My wedding is less than six months away, but I never seem to have time to make the arrangements." She shrugged. "I should know better than to plan anything in advance." She took another bite and leaned back, looking around the pub as she chewed. It was fairly quiet, obviously a local spot, all dark walls and scarred furniture. It was a bit funereal, but it was nice and the sparkle of fairy lights throughout made it pretty. Gwen imagined it as a place that hadn't changed in years, perhaps decades.

Jack had been uncharacteristically quiet throughout the trip, speaking only when necessary, and he didn't respond now. Gwen looked at him, wondering if she should try to draw him out. No, she thought, better to let Ianto be the one to go there. Her eye was irresistibly drawn to the sparkle on her finger and she mused, Jack knows I'm an engaged woman after all. It's not like he'll talk to me about it. Gwen looked at Ianto and caught him glancing at Jack. He was probably wondering if he should say anything to keep the conversation going.

Next to Gwen, Tosh placed her half empty glass on the dingy tabletop and replied, digging in her bag, "UNIT wanted input from all of us on the incident with the Su'utaf Singi bombs and, well, the Rift seems to be in a down cycle so …"

"Now you've done it," exclaimed Owen, pausing and putting his fork down. "Now Jack's bracelet's going to go off." Gwen smiled.

Ianto observed without rancor, "I didn't know you were so superstitious, Owen." He lifted his glass, frowning at the condensation ring on the dark wooden tabletop, and then held out his hand. "Pass me a coaster."

"I'm not superstitious. I just know how it usually works with us," Owen responded mildly, handing Ianto a coaster and then sitting back and looking around the pub idly.

Jack raised an eyebrow in astonishment, his fingers playing idly over his glass of water. "Look at you two. Did you bond while I was gone?"

"As a matter of fact, Jack, we did. While you were gone," Ianto replied, setting his glass down carefully on the coaster which was emblazoned with the name of the Southwark Inn and placing his elbows on the table. "We actually became quite close." His tone was just one side of defiant, despite the teasing smile on his face.

"Ooh, he told you," Gwen giggled, pointing her fork at Jack who was visibly trying not to smile. That's better, she thought.

Tosh laughed, too, looking up from her bag, as Owen's mouth dropped open. "He was bound to find out, Owen," she said airily.

"Oi! Jack! You're welcome to him … not that … I never …" Owen sputtered.

"I don't know, Owen. I'm getting quite an exciting mental picture here," Jack said leaning forward a bit almost like his old self, though Gwen noticed that he shot an uncertain glance at Ianto. "You know, if we have a free couple of hours tonight -."

"Hey! We were down to a skeleton crew," Owen cut in desperately. "We had to depend on one another. That doesn't mean –."

"Owen," Jack said, his tone wavering between reproof and laughter. "A skeleton crew? Since when is having one member of the team gone -."

Suddenly, Jack's vortex manipulator started to beep vociferously. Owen groaned. "What did I tell you? What did I bloody tell you?"

The rest of his complaint was lost in a flash of light and an overwhelming sense of compression.

Chapter 1

Jack awoke, his cheek pressed against damp soil. All things considered, it wasn't a bad way to awaken, with the gentle neighing of horses in the near distance, their feet thudding on hard packed earth. He had definitely had worse awakenings. The soil smelled rich and new with an overtone of life. There was a light breeze playing over the back of his neck and the sunlight, angling through a ridiculously blue sky as he opened his eyes, was bright and warm. A lone daisy bobbed in the breeze in front of his face, so close that it was difficult to make it out clearly and in the distance he could distinctly hear a bird singing. Groaning, Jack rolled over on his back, trying to remember how exactly he had ended up in a field. And where he was. And when he was. And why his head ached so damn much.

"Jack?" a familiar voice asked gently. "Are you okay?" He felt himself reaching out somehow toward that voice, a calming influence that centered him, something to walk toward like a city on a distant hill.

"Yes," he mumbled, spitting fragments of dry grass and dirt out of his mouth. "Did I die again?"

His view of the sky was abruptly blocked by Ianto's worried expression, his face in shadows and the light a bright halo around him. "No. We seem to have been taken through a time slip. I think we're still in Southwark near the Thames ... the topography looks basically the same. But, if this is Southwark, we are definitely not in the 21st century." Ianto paused, seeming a bit stunned by what had in all probability just happened to them, and then continued, "We're in a field instead of in the pub, obviously. There's a road just over there, but it's considerably more primitive than the road we drove in on. And, of course, the SUV is gone."

Jack shut his eyes. "All I wanted was a nice meal and some vigorously athletic sex with you back at the hotel," he complained plaintively. "Is that too much to ask from the universe?"

Owen's voice cut in from somewhere to his left, "I'd rather not hear about that if it's all the same to you. I'm still feeling a little nauseated."

Jack opened his eyes again and sat up, causing Ianto to move back onto his knees where he was framed by a field of waving grain. Jack paused for a moment to enjoy the visual, though to be honest it made his head swim a bit more, then moved on. To Jack's left, the rest of the team sat on the ground, looking extremely nervous. Tosh also looked somewhat green, but she smiled at him in spite of that. To the right, as he heaved himself up, Jack could see a road and a stand of low buildings in the middle distance. "Well, let's see when we are," he said. "Sitting in a field isn't going to get us anywhere."

The others followed him along the narrow verge between the road and field until they were close enough to make out the distinct shapes of individual buildings that were clustered against the road. As they drew near enough to see details, they heard hoof beats. Gwen, who was bringing up the rear, hissed, "Right behind us, coming around that last bend in the road." She dodged into the field, and the others followed, sliding between the stands of wheat. The horse and rider went by, hooves thudding solidly on the packed earth of the road, not even slowing down as they passed the buildings.

"Judging from the tack on that horse, the houppelande that man was wearing, and the buildings up ahead, I'd say we were sometime in the late fourteenth century. Maybe a bit later. Hard to know exactly, but that seems about right," Tosh said, standing up straight after the rider was well past and pushing her hair out of her eyes.

Jack joined the rest of the team in gazing at her in astonishment. "What? I did some drama when I was at school. Costumes, props, sets. You know." She gestured. "We even did a series of passion plays for a humanities project. That and some modern stuff where we got to hang from the ceiling in harnesses."

Trying for a flirtatious tone, Jack mused, "Houppelande? Harnesses? How did I not know these things about you?" but it came out more seriously than he had intended. Tosh blushed, meeting his eyes with a calm smile.

Owen sighed, "Wonderful," his flat tone belying his choice of words.

Her tone wary, Gwen asked, "What now?"

"Late fourteenth century. Plague, Gwen. The Black Death, all over this fucking century. Not a good time to be English, and we're right in the middle of it." Owen stuffed his hands in his pockets with an affronted look. Offended by the workings of the universe once more, no doubt.

"Incidentally," Tosh remarked with a small half smile, cutting the tension, "I find it really flattering that you lot take my word as to the date without any question."

Ianto said, moving on to the main point, "It could be a lot worse. We're all alive and uninjured. If Tosh is right, we need a plan. If we're going to get home, we need to be able to move freely. That means we need to find a way to fit in. And we need to know for certain where we are. Then we figure out how to get back home." He crossed his arms uneasily, even though his tone was even. Jack smiled.

"How do you suggest we do that?" Owen said rounding on Jack. "We don't speak the language, we are obviously not from around here, and I'm pretty sure that our money's not good here."

Jack nodded, but said, "This has happened to me before, more times than I can count. Dropped into an unfamiliar society, had to make do. Piece of cake."

"Yeah, but you didn't get back home, did you? You just wait it out," Owen snapped.

Jack felt the air go out of him and he hoped that the others hadn't noticed. Well, that everyone but Ianto hadn't noticed. It was too much to hope that anything escaped those sharp eyes.

"Okay, Jack," Ianto said as if he hadn't heard Owen's comment. "You're the time travel expert here, and you're the one who's going to get us back to our Cardiff. What do we do?" He deliberately stepped between Jack and Owen and smiled at the older man.

Jack looked at him for a long instant, feeling the muscles in his back relax gradually, then grinned. "Okay. We need clothes and we need cash. Ideas?"

Gwen said, "Well ... what do we have that we can sell?" She twisted her engagement ring around her finger nervously.

Jack clapped his hands together, "Excellent idea. Everybody check and see what you have that's valuable that we can sell or barter. It can't be anything that will change the timeline though." He looked at Gwen, "Not the ring, Gwen."

Gwen flushed and smiled brightly at him, then immediately pulled off a set of silver bangles and handed them to Jack while Tosh hesitantly unfastened her gold necklace. As Owen patted himself down, Jack searched his own pockets. Ianto stripped off his silk tie and his waistcoat, tugging off the buttons and pocketing them as he did so.

Once Jack had amassed the results of their search, he went through everything to look for any detail that would reveal information about where and when the items had come from. Jack used a pocket knife to reduce Ianto's tie and waistcoat to lengths of unstructured silk, well aware of Ianto's mournful expression. Then he said, "Okay, I'm going to go down to that little spot of civilization down there and see if I can find someone who will buy all of this or trade for it. I'll get us some clothes and be back before you know it. Wait for me here."

"How are you going to talk to them, Jack?" Gwen protested, shivering and wrapping her arms around her body.

He raised an eyebrow. "Gwen, have you forgotten that I speak the universal language?"

"Love?" she asked, puzzled. Owen snorted.

"Flirtation," he replied, with a cheeky grin. "I'll be back." He shot Ianto a look. "I will."

Ianto looked at him evenly. "I know. Be careful. If you aren't back in an hour," he said, holding up his stopwatch, "we're coming to get you."  
Jack smiled, turned on his heel, and headed toward the buildings.

"I hope Jack knows what he's doing," Tosh murmured as she sat down on the ground and pulled a small metal object out of her pocket, turning it over in her hands.

"What's that?" Gwen asked, moving over to sit next to her and look over her shoulder.

"It's a device I've been working on. It's supposed to be an instantaneous language translator."

Owen scoffed, "You're telling me that you just happen to be carrying a device that will enable you to speak Old English? How convenient."

"Middle English," Ianto interjected, still watching Jack recede in the distance.

"Yes, alright, and if you're so smart, why can't you speak it?" Owen said to distract him, sinking down to the ground. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but you didn't even finish university."

Ianto said mildly, turning to look at him, "Actually, I do remember a little bit from school. We had a very old fashioned curriculum. And I have read a book or two since then." He flashed Owen a pointed smile.

Owen threw up his hands. "Unbelievable. Why couldn't we end up somewhere interesting, and not in Tosh and Ianto's geek fantasy? Next you'll be telling me you like to dress up like people from this time period and bash each other with swords at the weekend."

Ianto replied patiently, obviously enjoying the sparring, "No, Owen. As you well know, we work at the weekend just like you do. Although in my spare time, I do like to dress up occasionally."

Gwen giggled, drawn into the conversation, and asked, "And do you play with swords, Ianto?" Owen gave an exaggerated groan and lay back on the grass, arms tucked behind his head so he could still see them all.

Tosh looked over at them then and smiled. "It's just something I've been working on. It fell through the rift about forty years ago; Ianto found it for me in the archives. I've been trying to get it working again. Carrying it around, being able to put my hand to it, helps me think about it better for some reason ... and I figured I wouldn't be … well, doing anything this evening." Tosh added thoughtfully, "I guess I'll get to try it out, won't I?"

"If you can think with all of the bickering that goes on," Gwen replied, smiling.

Almost an hour later, when Jack returned carrying a large bundle, he found Owen and Gwen asleep on the warm grass, Tosh working on a piece of alien tech she wasn't supposed to have out of the Hub, and Ianto studying his stopwatch.

"Okay, kids. Strip!" Jack ordered, dropping his bundle onto the ground. "Who's first?" he added suggestively, falling easily into a teasing tone. Ianto rolled his eyes, and Jack said, "Excellent! I like that spirit of volunteerism. You're first then." He raised an eyebrow, "Can I watch?"

Heaving a sigh, Ianto took off his jacket again and began unbuttoning his shirt. At that point, Jack half turned to look toward the road, trying and failing to look casually uninterested in Ianto's actions, all the while keeping the younger man well within the scope of his peripheral vision. Ianto was doubtless aware of Jack's gaze but chose to ignore him.

As the team stripped off, they bundled their clothes, shoes and other belongings into the large pieces of stout canvas Jack had brought and laced them over with the long leather cords he had also brought, forming rough knapsacks that they could sling over their backs. They all elected to retain their 21st century underthings; as Gwen pointed out, if they reached the point where someone got a close look at her knickers, they would already be in plenty of trouble and a little more wouldn't matter one way or another.

"So, Jack ... you traded my waistcoat for this?" Ianto pulled the rough, blood-colored tabard away from his body distastefully and then tugged down on the hem that fell just below his knees.

"I know," Jack commiserated, dragging the coarse linen of a similar tabard over his own head. "I really wanted to get you a shorter one. You have such appealing legs." He smiled. "Still ... the hose are nice."

"You look fine, Ianto," said Gwen, correctly interpreting the look he shot Jack. "Ignore him. Tosh and I are the ones who look odd. And why are we all dressed the same? That's just weird." She wrapped herself in her dark blue cloak experimentally and swished it around.

"That's all they had to trade. Apparently they were commissioned by some men who never showed up for them. I didn't have many choices, and I wanted to get out of there before they asked a lot of questions." Jack shrugged. He tossed a shapeless hat to Gwen and another to Tosh, who caught it absently, still looking at the translator that she was shifting from hand to hand as she dressed. "The good thing is, with the jewelry and the silk, they definitely felt they were getting the better part of the bargain. I picked up enough money to last us for a while."

Owen looked quizzically at the pattens Jack had handed him. "You're telling me that my ancestors wore wooden platform shoes?" He sighed and strapped then on over the soft leather slippers he already had on. Ianto stifled a chuckle.

"But why do we all have to dress like men?" Gwen said. "We are dressed like men, right?" she added doubtfully.

"If it's all the same to you, Gwen, I feel a bit better dressed as a man. I feel safer," Tosh said, securing her hair up under the dark hat Jack had tossed her and muffling her figure with a cloak. "It's bad enough that I don't look English to these people." Ianto felt his heart turn over at that.

Jack looked at her evenly. "You're thinking about 1941, aren't you?"

"Jack, of all of us, I'm the only one who can never fit in here. I look like I don't belong. And it's scary to be singled out." She looked down and passed a palm over the rough fabric of the tabard.

Ianto moved to stand next to her. She looked up at him and touched his arm lightly, a shiver of dark cellars with dirt floors and frantic hope, stumbling in the night, coursing through her body.

Owen looked at Ianto and nodded his head sharply, his hands on his hips and Gwen said fiercely, "Too right." Jack looked at his team uncomfortably, not quite sure what was being communicated.

"Just don't sacrifice yourself in order to protect me again, Ianto," Tosh said quietly. "The goal here is for all of us to go home. Nobody's getting left behind." She let her hand drop down and squeezed his arm gently, then released him. "Besides, Gwen, have you seen what women used to wear?" she continued in a lighter tone. "It'll be a lot easier to get around dressed like a man. I have no desire to go walking in a long skirt."

They finished changing and prepared to move. In the hamlet, Jack had heard of an inn further down the road, on the edge of a small village, and had decided they could reach it easily before nightfall. Once they were there, they could set about determining where and when they were exactly and, under the shelter of a roof, form a plan.

"Okay," said Jack as Ianto swept his eyes over the ground, insuring they hadn't left anything behind. "Here we go. Tosh, you keep working on that device of yours. It will make all of this a lot easier if you can get it working. Everyone else, keep an eye out and let me do the talking."

"It's not like we can stop you," muttered Owen acerbically. Ianto bit back a chuckle and flashed a grin at the doctor ignoring the surprised look on Jack's face.

They set off down the road, their regular clothes and belongings slung in bundles across their backs. They had discussed burying their 21st century clothing, or burning it, but Jack had reasoned that they were unlikely to be searched and that there was a real danger of leaving some scrap behind that would overturn all of archeological thinking.

Ianto couldn't help the nervousness that clutched at him, but he took comfort in watching Jack's confident stride. If anyone could get them out of the Middle Ages and back to 21st century Cardiff, it was Jack. The air was clearer than he ever remembered smelling before, and there was a tang of wood smoke in the breeze. If it weren't for the fact that he was further from home than he had any right to be, he could almost enjoy the walk.

They passed the hamlet Jack had visited, skirting it as widely as they could so as not to be seen. The village Jack had seen was further down the road, deep in the bowl of a rolling valley.

A couple of hours later, they entered the small village. There was an inn at the outskirts of the village and Jack headed for it with confidence. The inn was fairly large and had a substantial stable visible behind it. As they approached the building, Ianto could make out the name on the roughly painted sign. It read "Tabard Inn."

"Tabard?" Isn't that the name of these dresses you've got us wearing, Jack?" asked Owen in a disbelieving tone. "Is this real or are we in some kind of story?"

"That name sounds very familiar," Ianto agreed, looking at the sign thoughtfully.


	2. Chapter 2

A man came around the corner and smiled upon seeing them, gesturing for them to go inside the half-timber building. His clothing was similar to theirs, but it hung on a gaunt frame and his skin had an unhealthy pallor. There were deep shadows around his eyes. A breeze suddenly kicked up the dust in the yard, and he waved them on again before entering the inn.

They walked through the low doorway, and Ianto stood blinking in the dim light. In the shadows, he saw groups of people sitting and talking, some members of religious orders, several men dressed in what Ianto guessed were everyday clothes, and a large expansive woman who was laughing uproariously and making wide gestures. There were also a few more expensively dressed people who sat apart from the others, talking quietly and shooting uncertain glances at the louder people in the room.

One man separated himself from the latter group and came forward, addressing them generally. "Gode dei."

Ianto hesitated for an instant and then stepped forward, feigning confidence as he copied the man's pronunciation. "Gode dei."

"Ic highte Sir Thopas," replied the man, looking at him keenly and gesturing for them to draw near the fire. "Yow goon pilgrimage wiþe þis myrie compaignye?" At Ianto's noncommittal nod, he grinned and went to retrieve another round of ale from the tavern keeper. Ianto mused that it was probably safer just to agree with the man at this point. He half turned to face the rest of the team, and Jack looked at him questioningly.

"Thopas," Ianto said thoughtfully. "I know that name." It was an unusual name, so why did it sound so familiar?

"Who is he?" Jack asked curiously, his eyes tracking the movements of the other denizens of the inn.

"I know him," Ianto muttered, suddenly, the memory making him catch his breath for a moment. "I know who that is." He turned to look for Sir Thopas in the crowd. "I can't believe it!" he said more loudly, catching the attention of several people standing nearby.

"What are you on about?" Owen whispered fiercely, walking up closely behind Ianto, who was smiling at the array of people now staring at them with varying degrees of interest and suspicion.

"What?" Ianto was distracted, his mind still reeling from the shock of moving from conjecture to reality.

"What are you on about?" Owen enunciated sarcastically in his ear.

I know that man," Ianto said.

"What?" Owen sounded incredulous.

"Thopas. Sir Thopas. The Tabard Inn. Southwark. The fourteenth century."

"You're babbling. Jack, he's babbling." Owen was starting to sound concerned. "Are you okay, mate?"

"Sir Thopas is Chaucer. The Canterbury Tales. We're in the Canterbury Tales! That's Geoffrey Chaucer," Ianto finished in a hushed tone.

Owen laughed shortly. Who?"

"Aren't you from this country?" Ianto demanded in a slightly scandalized tone, finally turning to face him fully.

"Doesn't mean I know every trifling piece of stuck up lit ever produced here. Some of us are busy having a life." Owen grinned impudently. "But you wouldn't know about that, would you?"

Thopas returned carefully balancing five rough cups full of ale and handed them around. His eyes were alight with curiosity as he turned to focus on Ianto. "So, þou knowest myne name. And þart?"

"Iwysse," Ianto stuttered. "Sir Thopas, ic hight Ifan ap Hywel,

"Art þeis þy guildsmen?" Thopas asked politely, taking in their matching garments as he smiled a greeting at each in turn.

Ianto thought fast, running through what he remembered of the General Prologue when the pilgrims were introduced. "Certes. Icham an haberdasshere. He highte John Hardy, a carpenter. Gerard ab Dafydd, a webbe," he continued, indicating Gwen. "Oswyn Harper, a dyere and þilke is Thomas Sayer, a tapycer," he gestured toward Tosh, who kept her cap pulled low and her eyes steady.

"Icham honoured. If yow consente to go on pilgrimage, sikerlich we will speke." Thopas smiled generally at them and then returned to the group of people who had already lost interest in the new arrivals.

"As I was saying," Owen returned to his theme, but Ianto was having none of it.

"It's only one of the most famous books in the English language, as you obviously already know, Owen. There are five guildsmen, men who are dressed alike, who go on the pilgrimage but who don't have tales. I don't see another group of five people dressed alike, do you? Sir Thopas is Chaucer," he added. "And you heard him! We're the guildsmen."

"You never told me you were an expert on Middle English literature," Jack said, circling close and leaning over Ianto's shoulder to breathe in his ear. "And who's Hywel?"

Ianto shivered, involuntarily, cursing his body for reacting so strongly to Jack's proximity. He could feel Jack's nearness running over his skin like possessing hands. "I'm not. I just paid attention when I was at school." He waved Jack off and sighed, "And Hywel is an old family name."

"Mmmm. The Middle English? Very sexy. John Hardy is very interested in Ifan ap Hywel." Jack grinned, not dissuaded at all.

Between Jack's money and Ianto's halting conversation, and with the assistance of the sharp eyed Sir Thopas, they managed to get a room for the evening after enduring a meal of leek pottage, dark bread, and ale. Jack and Ianto spent a lot of time on the fringes of whichever group Thopas happened to be in, listening closely to the portions of the conversation they could follow and trying to decipher what was going on around them. When the discussion moved on to what awaited the pilgrims at Canterbury, Jack became intensely interested, and Ianto, seeing that, did his best to follow the conversation.

"Alþerfirst, it is sede and ic have herde þat atte Canterbury þer is a bryghtenesse þat doþ open aboue þe alter for þer þe hooly to rissen in lich to heven," said the friar a trifle pompously, obviously pleased to be the center of attention in such a large company. He crossed his arms over his deep chest and nodded sententiously.

"Mervaylez, ic liste to segh it," breathed the young nun, running nervous fingers over her loosely fitted clothing and wrenching her hands together almost painfully. Her face was a stark white in the shadows of the inn and her eyes burned.

"Þat is sacrylage," the prioress said disdainfully, looking sharply at the nun. "As þow well kennen, Broþer Huberd." She turned her harsh gaze on the friar.

"But hwat if it be trewe?" asked the knight from behind his ale. "If it be trewe, þenne it is certe from God ond thus hooly." He shrugged and took a long drink.

"Þer quoþ a resonabele manne," laughed a woman with a loud and expansive voice, her hair pulled back and elaborately braided with ribbons and jewelry. "As alle þe best menne are, Sir Watt," she added with a self-satisfied smirk, nodding her head at the knight.

He nodded courteously back to her, content in his own status.

"Bimowe not. Certe, þow sceolde kennen aboute 'alle þe menne', þow gat-toþed wenche," sniped another pilgrim, a large and angry looking man with heavy brows and a twisted mouth. "Þow sceolde go bac to Bath."

The woman turned to him sharply and said, "Who peyntede the leon, tel me who? Yow menne are alle wont to telle wifkin aboute propre behaving, but þow hast þe werst yre of ane one ich haf euer mette. Do þow not amoneste me, ipocrite!"

"Clom, eþgete wenche!" the angry man began, his hands clenched into fists. The youngest nun turned to the prioress in distress and she, in turn, looked at the friar.

"Þow sommoner! Kenne þy place, plese. We speke of miracles," intoned the friar. The woman from Bath shot the summoner a triumphant look and then threw a wink at Ianto.

"Supposen miracles," corrected the prioress, passing a frustrated hand over her forehead and leaning back in her chair. "Þis is alle totevale. Canterbury is a hooly place; þat is alle."

Jack nudged Ianto, urging him to find out more and evidently expecting him to come out with intelligible questions; Ianto opened his mouth, his mind racing, trying to keep up with the flow of the conversation. "What ...?" He froze, grasping for words.

"Yis, frend?" asked Thopas, with an interested gleam in his eye, keenly glancing from Jack to Ianto and back again. "Ifan, be not afered to speke in þis felaweshipe."

"Hwat is þis miracle? Atte Canterbury?" Ianto asked, keeping his words as simple as possible in hopes that they would lay his pronunciation down to accent or lack of education.

The friar looked at him pityingly and said, speaking very slowly and clearly, "Þer is a lyȝte yn þe chirche ond folk kanne goon to heven þrof."  
"Supposinge," interjected the prioress, irritation plainly evident in her voice.

"Supposinge, benigne Madame Eglentyne. We go to seih yt," he continued. "Wisteþ yow go al to gedere in þis companie?" He asked the last question kindly enough, although his expression unequivocally stated that he wasn't looking forward to the company of a halfwit who had so much trouble constructing a basic sentence.

Ianto sighed in frustration, not wanting to assay a sentence in Middle English unless he had to, and looked at Jack who was struggling to keep a straight face.

"Tis certe a slehþe," grumbled another pilgrim.

"No," interjected the young nun. "It haþ a sovereyn prys."

Thopas interrupted, "Ic herde twichand þis þat þe air is inshed, feruent, and smell of soufre ond eek þat gastli voises kanne be herde criynge vyolentlych whanne þis lyȝte spredes þe derke. Hwat kenne yow of þis? Artow suir þis is an heuenly apparence?"

"Tis in a chirche!" the young nun rejoined with an injured expression. "Certes it comeþ from God!"

"Nat alle tis hwat it beseemeþ, fair ledy," remarked Thopas thoughtfully. And with that the conversation moved onto the weather. The gusts of earlier had strengthened and now a brisk rain had started. No one was looking forward to slogging through mud in the morning.

When the pilgrims retired for the night, the team did, too. The tiny room they were shown to by the gruff innkeeper didn't inspire much enthusiasm, but at least it was private. Unlike many of the others, they were not making do with a spot amidst the rushes on the floor of the main room. The small room also had a window through which moonlight entered, casting a little light. Owen paced the floor and warned, "Don't any of you get any ideas about using that chamber pot. You can go outside in the rain or not at all." Ianto grimaced, but didn't respond. Owen continued, "And my advice to you lot is to sleep on the floor. There's no way to know how many fleas are in those pallets." He paused and then added, "If any of us catches anything here, there's nothing I can do about it." He selected a shadowy corner of the room and sank to the floor, his head pillowed on the bundle of his clothes.

"So, Ifan," Gwen started, pulling off her cap and plopping down on the smaller pallet next to Tosh, causing her to list to one side. "Gerard ab Dafydd? Who's he?" She ran her hands over her scalp and shook out her hair, its color merely a darker shadow amongst many others.

"I said the first names that came to mind," Ianto responded, punching the straw pallet he and Jack were sitting on in a futile attempt to make it comfortable. "I worked with a Gerard David in London." He paused, then added, "He was a friend of mine."

"What's a tapycer?" Tosh asked, not looking up from the device in her hands.

"You make tapestries." Ianto sketched a vague gesture with his hands.

"Oh," she said with complete disinterest, buried in her thoughts and not even looking at him. "Jack, I think if we can somehow get this device to communicate with your vortex manipulator, it may work."

"Really?" Jack scooted over to sit across from her and flipped open his wristband.

"It just needs a power source and your vortex manipulator can provide that. Then we expose the translator to the language, and it should start translating for us. We just need to stay in range of one another." She held the device close to Jack's wrist and adjusted some of the controls while he smiled fondly down at her.

"Okay. That means we need to spend some more time with the people here in the inn," Jack said.

Gwen yawned, "Can we do it tomorrow?" She lay back on the straw. "I'm exhausted."

"Fleas, Gwen," Owen said urgently from his corner.

"Tonight, Owen, I don't care," she replied, her eyes shut. "I'll take my chances. Talk to me about it in the morning."

"Actually, I think I'll have the translator fully powered by morning," Tosh said, her voice sounding surprised. She smiled brightly, brushing her hair out of her face. "Once I have it working, as long as we remain fairly close together, it should insure that we can understand them and they can understand us. The telepathic interface doesn't have a very large range, but we should be fine under most circumstances."

Ianto said, stretching his back and catching Jack's eye as he did so, "Good. Because I'm going to run out of vocabulary fairly quickly. I know just enough to get into trouble." He smiled at Jack who swallowed, distracted from the problem at hand by the thought of Ianto getting into trouble. He was also distracted by the bottom of Ianto's tabard which had ridden up his thigh when he stretched. And the warmth he could feel radiating from Ianto's body. And that smile which just maybe held some kind of promise.

Gwen's voice jerked him reluctantly back to the subject at hand. "Jack, how does a translator help? It's not like these people are going to be able to tell us where to find a way back home. How are we supposed to get back? I don't want to spend the rest of my life in medieval England with no showers … dressed like a man … with the lice and the fleas … and the plague." Gwen was raised up on her elbows, a concerned expression on her face.

Jack said, "According to Thopas, there's talk of a holy site in Canterbury. That's where these people are headed."

"And?" Gwen demanded, sitting up fully and scratching her arm with vigor. "How does that help us?" Her voice had a slight edge.

"Supposedly people have ascended bodily to the heavens there." Jack laughed, glancing at Ianto to see if he had gotten a reaction. "Must be pretty exciting. And more importantly, it might be another time slip we can use to get home." He looked at her. "It's worth a shot, Gwen, because we don't have a lot of other options right now. Anyway, we can join Thopas' group of pilgrims when they leave tomorrow for Canterbury. I've already asked about hiring some horses."

Owen groaned from his place on the floor, "Oh no. Don't tell me."

Ianto left off messing with the hem of his tabard, raised an eyebrow and replied, shooting a sideways glance at Jack, "Þan longen folk to goon on pilgrimages, And palmeres for to seken straunge strondes, To ferne halwes, couthe in sondry londes; And specially, from euery shires ende Of Engelond to Caunterbury þey wende, The hooly blissful martir for to seke, Þat hem haþ holpen, whan þat þey were seke."

"I'll thank you to speak proper English, mate!" Owen said in exasperation, sitting up again and looking to Jack and the others for support.

Jack, however, was still looking at Ianto through the dimness of the room. "That was incredibly hot," he muttered, trying to disguise the catch in his throat. He swallowed as Ianto looked back at him, his face a quiet, careful mask.

"Oh my god," Owen moaned. "It just gets worse. We all have to sleep in here, you know."

"It was kind of hot," Tosh said thoughtfully, the device forgotten in her hands.


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning Owen awoke slowly, itching in places he didn't even want to think about. Sighing, he sat up, scratching. Still here. He'd hoped it was a dream, one of those awful, tedious work-related dreams that assailed him all too frequently. But Jack was there, leaning against the wall across from him, watching Ianto sleep. The younger man was partially curled in on himself, lying on his side with one hand wrapped around his body and the other loosely sprawled over the pallet. Jack, his forehead creased by an infinitesimal frown, was watching the fingers of Ianto's hand flex slightly. He hadn't seemed to notice that Owen was awake.

"Jack," Owen said urgently but quietly.

"Yes, Owen?" he drawled, pushing off from the wall lightly and stepping closer to where Owen sat.

"Fleas, Jack." Owen scrabbled his hands over his clothes as he stood.

"There are fleas everywhere, Owen. It's not like we can avoid them," Jack sounded resigned, and he glanced back to where Gwen and Ianto were still sleeping. Tosh wasn't in the room, but Owen knew she wouldn't have gone far.

"Easy for you to say. You get to come back when you die of the plague." Owen grimaced. "I don't have to worry about you."

Jack said, "Owen, all we can do is stick to the plan and try to get home as quickly as possible. Besides, I don't think there've been in outbreaks in this area at this time."

"Oh, now you're an expert on the 14th century?"

"Well, more of an expert than you." Jack pointed at himself with a slight flourish, "Time traveler."

Owen snorted, but let the statement pass.

"Besides, yesterday I talked to Tosh and Ianto some more about the time period. Ianto seemed pretty sure that we were in a clear area," Jack continued, keeping his voice low.

"I hate to tell you this, Jack, but there is no 'clear area,' not until antibiotics are discovered," Owen replied. "Regardless of what Ianto might say. Just because he's read a few books, that doesn't make him an expert."

Hearing his name, Ianto opened his eyes and pulled himself wearily upright, his posture implying that he was resigned to the fact that the day had started and he was still in the 14th century. "There were outbreaks from 1379 to 1382 in Northern England. From 1390 to 1391 a larger outbreak throughout the country. I reckon we are somewhere between those two outbreaks since we seem to be staying in the same inn as Chaucer. And he didn't … doesn't die until 1400, and he didn't record anything about any of the pilgrims getting sick from plague." He scrubbed a hand through his hair and Jack smiled at his atypical disarray.

Owen shook his head. "In his story book, Ianto. He wasn't writing a travelogue. For all you know he made the whole damn thing up sitting at home with his feet up. And your statistics sound like wishful thinking to me. We don't even know for sure that Sir Thopas and Chaucer are the same bloke, do we?"

Ianto shrugged and ran his hands through his hair again, attempting to smooth it down. Jack walked hesitantly closer to him and looked down, the fingers on one hand twitching slightly. Owen wanted to roll his eyes ... wanted to make a caustic remark ... but he didn't. If they wanted to waste time being coy, that was their lookout. Jack might have all the time in the universe, but Owen knew from bitter experience that being the one left behind was a position fraught with all kinds of regrets. If he could go back, he wouldn't waste a single minute.

"Good, you're up. Ianto, I'm ready to try the translator," Tosh called, ducking back into the room. "Will you come with me since you can hold a conversation with them? The translator needs to be exposed to the language. Since it's similar to the language we're speaking, it shouldn't take long," she added doubtfully.

"We'll all go," Jack responded, dusting himself off and stepping over to the other pallet to shake Gwen awake.

In the main room of the inn, Thopas and several of the other pilgrims were talking with great animation. Ianto and Tosh greeted them with smiles and went to sit with a group that was having a breakfast of dark bread and ale. Owen, a yawning Gwen, and Jack sat a little distant and listened to the conversation.

"And þan Agnes axe wher ic hadde oure array maad," the loud, expansive woman concluded, choking with laughter and scratching her arm absently. "Array conseil! Fro me, Alisoun!"

"Ic trowe that she hight wood nyce to lyke to þyn conseil, þow lewed jangler wenche, in sooth," grumbled a man with thinning, waxy yellow hair. "Clom, bicche," He continued in a muttered voice, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Þow dost na leke fair wenches, ic trowe, wel koude ic knowe, þow hehne manne, Roger de Rouncivale," Alisoun replied in the satisfied tone of someone who has seen her shot go home and be buried deep enough to wound if not kill, turning to smile at Ianto flirtatiously.

Across the table, the same red faced man who had been so dismissive of her the evening before looked at her, drawing down his brows in a heavy scowl, and then turned to frown suspiciously at Ianto and Tosh.

"What nedeþ wordes mo?" Alisoun said, waving her hand dismissively. Ianto smiled back at her and she continued, "Ifan, þow alle been to me right welcome, hertely, þow hendi manne."

Ianto replied, nudging Tosh who smiled abstractedly, " Alisoun, þy daliaunce apys me welle."

Alisoun simpered and said, shooting a sharp glance at some of the better dressed pilgrims, "Art þow certe þart no laird? For verely þart certe curteis."

Ianto smiled back at her and took a long draught of ale.

Alisoun looked over at Gwen and beckoned her forward, saying, "Why hydestow fro me, Gerard? Fayn wolde ic doon þou myrþe, wiste ic how." Alisoun smiled and looked down in false modesty.

Gwen blushed and Jack pushed her forward. She sat across from Ianto, folding her hands on the table in front of her

"Uh ... hello?" Gwen said hesitantly.

"Greetings, Gerard. How are you this beautiful morning?" Alisoun asked coquettishly.

Next to Ianto, Tosh stiffened and then looked up at him with a bright smile. He leaned against her gently for an instant and smiled back.  
Tosh gleefully took up a piece of bread, smiling as the conversation washed over her, newly intelligible and familiar.

"So, Gerard," Alisoun of Bath said a bit later, leaning across the table over the remains of her breakfast. "What brings such a young and handsome man as yourself on pilgrimage? Tell me you haven't done anything that wants forgiving."

"Uh … well …." Gwen stammered, looking around for help. The others, however, had abandoned her, going outside after they had had their breakfasts to check on the horses Jack had purchased from the innkeeper's brother. Gwen, her feet already sore from the ill-fitting pattens, had elected to stay inside for a while in order to rest, but she was fast coming to regret that decision. Even without the language barrier, Alisoun was a formidable conversational partner and a relentless flirt. She actually reminded Gwen of Jack and that, more than anything else, made her nervous.

"Oh, shy then, are you?" Alisoun smiled. "Or just quiet? You know, I usually pick a husband who is somewhat older than me ... but young men have a certain appeal as well." She laughed. "Seize the day, eh? Or seize something else?" She winked.

"Excuse me," Gwen said, getting up swiftly, desperately trying to hold back laughter. She left the inn and approached Jack and Ianto, who were talking together quietly. "Why does that woman keep flirting with me?" she gritted out in amused frustration, squinting up at Ianto who seemed to be the expert in all things medieval.

Ianto waited a beat, looking at Jack to see if he would answer her question, and then reluctantly replied. "It's your teeth, Gwen."

"My teeth? What's wrong with my teeth?" Gwen suddenly felt uncomfortable, conscious again that people might be staring at her.

"During this time period, a gap between the front teeth had a symbolic meaning," Ianto continued gently.

No longer smiling, Gwen said fiercely, "And that is? Because she has one, too, if it comes right down to it." Her hand flew up to cover her mouth.

"People who have a gap between their front teeth ... are thought be extremely sexual," he said with evident discomfort.

Jack gave a bark of laughter. "Oh, Gwen!"

"Jack!" Ianto remonstrated sharply.

"Shut up, Jack! Are you serious, Ianto?" she breathed, pulling her cloak tightly around her frame and tucking her chin in.

"Yes," he said apologetically.

"Oh my god!" she exclaimed, closing her eyes and pulling the cloak up to her ears. "I'm sending signals without even trying to. I hate it here. I want to go home," she continued quietly. Tosh drifted over and hesitantly touched her arm briefly.

"Still, Gwen, it is better now that we know what's going on, isn't it?" Tosh said mildly.

"We don't know what's going on. Not really. Knowing the language isn't the same as understanding how people think," Gwen said more softly.

Her exclamation had caught the attention of Thopas, who had been watching with idle interest the preparation of the horses. He walked over, while Jack gave a noncommittal grin and wandered off to find Owen. As Thopas opened a conversation with Gwen and Tosh about the weather, the florid faced man who had been in intimate discussion with the pardoner, Roger de Rouncivale, approached Ianto. De Rouncivale watched from a distance with bright, avid eyes.

"Ifan." The name was said with great disdain.

Ianto raised an eyebrow, waiting for the man to pronounce his own name.

"I am Henry Court, summoner to the ecclesiastical courts." He drew himself up with great self-importance.

Ianto nodded politely. "And I'm Ifan ap Hywel." He waited.

You're Welsh, then," Court said with hostility he didn't bother to bury. Under his heavy brows, his eyes narrowed angrily.

"Yes," Ianto replied evenly. "I am."

"That explains your appalling accent," the summoner sniffed insultingly.

Ianto tensed, but merely inclined his head without speaking.

"I have always found the Welsh to be a worthless race," Court continued, looking a challenge at Ianto.

"What's his problem?" Tosh muttered to Gwen.

"Besides the fact that he's an angry man? I would guess it's Owain Glyndwr," Gwen said in reply, and Thopas nodded silently, keeping an eye on the developing conflict. He even stepped slightly toward the two men, partially shielding Tosh and Gwen from the argument. For their part, they drew closer together and kept a careful eye on the men. The Court's voice kept getting louder and more angry, but whatever responses Ianto was making were muted and sounded calm.

"Who?" Tosh asked quietly, her eyes fixed on Ianto.

"Owain Glyndwr. He united Wales in an attempt to get out from under English rule. We held them off for almost fifteen years," Gwen said with quiet pride, keeping her voice pitched low enough that Thopas couldn't hear her. "My gran told me all about this. The rebellion hasn't started yet, I think … in this timeline … but soon. He must be making problems for the English already, so I guess they don't like us much right now."

The summoner continued, raising his voice, "Pity King Edward or the Pestilence didn't finish off you lot." He had stepped into Ianto's personal space and was perilously close to shoving a hand against Ianto's chest. For his part, Ianto was pale and his expression was stern, but he was avoiding physical contact.

The prioress, her attention drawn by the Court's raised voice, interjected, "Now, brother, we must show Christian compassion to the less fortunate. They cannot help that they are untutored and from an uncivilized land."

"Compassion? To a bunch of filthy savages? I think not!" he sneered, stepping even closer to Ianto so that their chests were actually touching.

Ianto leaned forward a bit and murmured something that the others couldn't hear; Court's red face colored even more violently and he hastily stepped back, although his stance remained aggressive. In the near distance, de Rouncivale tensed and moved closer.

Meanwhile Gwen said, "Now hold on," and stepped around Sir Thopas to stand just behind Ianto, evading Tosh's restraining hand. "That's enough of that!" Court scowled at them both and spat on the ground.

Thopas stepped forward then, smoothly taking Ianto's arm and drawing him aside and turning so that they were no longer facing the incensed man. He walked Ianto casually in the direction of the inn. "You know, I have always felt that this country owes a great debt to the poets of Wales for keeping alive a literary tradition that predates the coming of the Normans. It is a wonderful thing to keep one's native language alive after conquest, particularly when telling the stories of one's land. You know, I myself am gathering a collection of stories for a project of my own. Let's step back from politics and discuss storytelling, which is rightly famous in your native land."

Behind them, Court, looking impotently angry, clenched his fists around his wide leather belt and then turned back toward the horses and de Rouncivale. Her heart pounding, Gwen stood for a moment, glaring at his back and then turned back to rejoin Tosh.

"So, Ifan, are you a cyfarwydd and can we expect great things from your tale?" Thopas continued in a lighter vein. He almost sounded as if he were teasing.

"Merely being from a land of poets doesn't make me a poet," Ianto laughed, his body relaxing slightly.

"So that is where you are from? You and your fellows?" Thopas asked closely, shooting a glance at Tosh who was watching the men carefully and then gesturing for Ianto to sit with him just inside the inn. As Ianto lowered himself onto the bench, Thopas waved for a drink.

"Yes," Ianto said. "We're from Wales, although not all of us were born there."

"Ah," smiled Thopas. "That explains the accent!" He laughed at the surprised expression on Ianto's face and, after an instant, Ianto grinned as well.


	4. Chapter 4

The Knight's Tale

Once they were on the road and had settled into a relaxed pace, the horses weaving loosely together, the pilgrims began to discuss the storytelling competition Thopas had proposed. Sir Walter, a square-built man with shockingly pale skin and dark hair, assumed that he would be the one to begin, as a part of the natural order of things, and the others tacitly agreed.

He began his tale in an elevated tone that reminded Gwen a bit of the voice people use at poetry slams, those incredibly pretentious, incredibly tedious things one of her ex boyfriends used to drag her to. The knight seemed confident that everyone would find his story riveting, but she was bored. Bored with doing nothing. Bored with traveling so slowly. Bored with medieval England and desperately ready to go home. She missed home, the comfort of sitting on the couch with Rhys, waking up next to him, arguing with him. It was funny how all her thoughts of home somehow involved him, as if there were no home without Rhys in it. The thought of never getting home to him … of him never knowing what had happened to her, she touched the thought falteringly, was unbearable.

If anyone could get them home it would be Jack, and maybe Tosh, but Gwen wasn't very impressed with this pilgrimage thing and with the idea of going to Canterbury to see some phenomenon that was probably one part lies and one part exaggeration. If they had to go to Canterbury, she couldn't figure out why they didn't just ride day and night until they got there. Typical. Jack was back, and they were back to doing things Jack's way, fumbling in the dark until they stumbled upon a solution.

She sighed, then covertly looked over at Owen.

Owen, for his part, didn't even appear to be listening to the tale. He was probably concentrating on not falling off his horse. And staying as far from these potentially flea bearing people as he could. And thinking about the crawling sensations on his skin. She shuddered. Ever since Owen had mentioned fleas, she had been conscious of that feeling. And itching. She was definitely concerned with the itching. She sighed again.

Tosh, however, actually seemed to be listening to Sir Walter's story. More power to her, thought Gwen. Anything was better than obsessing about fleas. Gwen scratched her arm.

At that moment, Tosh was thinking that the knight's tale was a bit like a philosophy lecture at university dressed up in fictional clothing. The question Sir Walter was raising was actually kind of interesting, and it was a welcomed distraction. She wondered for a moment who would be most likely to have an opinion on the topic. Really, she didn't have to wonder. Tentatively, she encouraged her horse to jog up next to Ianto's. "So, Ianto, free will. What do you think?" She looked at him expectantly.

"I don't know." He was watching his horse's head bob up and down, doubtless tracking Jack's whereabouts out of the corner of his eye. "It's not something I worry about much."

"In our line of work?" she said with a smile. "I know you have to wonder." She paused, gathering her thoughts, and then continued, "I was reading this article the other day on subatomic particles and whether their motion can be predicted … whether their movement is predetermined, or if they have a kind of 'free will.' The authors of the paper asserted that there is a connection between that question and whether or not people have free will." She looked at the green panoply spread out along the side of the road.

"What did they conclude?" It was difficult to tell from his tone whether Ianto was truly interested or whether he was just being polite. It was like almost every conversation she'd had with him before Jack had left with the Doctor. Before Jack left Ianto had been a cipher, hiding the layers of his personality, even after Lisa was discovered and his biggest secret was laid bare. She hadn't really known Ianto until he was stripped of his butler persona, the one he had always worn around Jack. When Jack had disappeared, had left, she had been astonished to find that none of them had really known Ianto at all. He had had no other mask to put on, so he had gone without and she had been pleasantly surprised at how much she had enjoyed getting to know him.

She forged ahead with the conversation. "They thought perhaps, since quantum mechanics presupposes that the movement of a particle can't be predicted, that we probably have free will."

"Is that what you think?" returned Ianto, his eye caught by the movement of a falcon, a hunter, spinning against clouds in the blue sky, and then falling abruptly. Tosh looked up, too, briefly, in time to see the falcon rise again with a dove gripped in its talons.

She laughed, "I don't know. Sometimes it feels as though my life as a whole has been scripted … how I got where I am, how I met all of you. But on the other hand, in the smaller things, I think I do have a choice. When we opened the Rift … I had a choice. I … I chose to … with Mary I had a choice," she stated more quietly. "I chose wrongly both times, and I can't blame an outside observer for that."

Ianto was silent for a moment, his face turned away now.

She gulped, feeling suddenly self-conscious and awkward. "Ianto, I didn't mean to--."

"It would be ridiculous never to mention Lisa, or to imagine that I don't think about her," he said gravely, meeting her eyes. "I had a choice, too, even though I felt like I was on automatic … like I had been wound up and I was running … until I ran down." He sighed. "That seems so long ago."

Tosh ventured after a moment, "So what do you think?"

Ianto said thoughtfully, "I wonder how we can be free. The whole concept of time travel seems to imply that everything's already set in place, regardless of what Jack says about creating paradoxes and changing the timeline. How can we change something that has already happened? My entire life, from Jack's perspective has already happened, so what does that say about any free will I might have?"

Jack had been listening in on the conversation for the last few minutes; he rode up next to Tosh and remarked in a troubled tone, "Is that what you think, Ianto? That I have taken away possibilities from you just by existing?"

Ianto looked at him and then looked away. Tosh shifted uncomfortably, realising she had drawn Ianto into perhaps more self-revelation than he was comfortable with. And Jack… Jack, sounded almost vulnerable.

Ianto, however, was forging ahead with the conversation. "When I was young I thought I knew the answers, like we all do. But my life became … chaotic, and all I did was react. I drifted, let myself be pushed by events. Then I was recruited by London. I didn't exactly buy into their mission, but I belonged somewhere when I was there." Jack grimaced, but Ianto went on. "I had a purpose, even if it was flawed. When I met Lisa, though, I thought … I thought I had found the answer."

He looked at Jack carefully, as if wanting him to understand. "After the fires at Canary Wharf, my purpose became tempered steel; all I knew was ruthlessness in the service of my purpose, just like everyone else in London. I just learned it too late." He paused. "And, of course, I had a different goal."

Jack looked upset, but he resisted commenting. Tosh silently blessed him. Most of Ianto's past was a book he never opened. This was as revelatory and honest as Tosh had ever heard Ianto be about Canary Wharf or his life before, and she didn't want Jack to interrupt him.

"When Lisa was gone, the center couldn't hold, and I discovered I was hollow. I was hollow for a long time. The only thing that's saved me is knowing I'm needed in Cardiff, that I have a role to play. And I think that this was decided for me a long time ago. I decide which suit to wear each day, what tie, what shoes. I have small choices ... and a few big ones. But my life and my death have already been determined."

Suddenly, Walter's voice swelled, catching their attention, "The first mover of the cause above, when he first made the chain of love, great was the effect and high was the intent."

"See?" said Ianto, half jokingly. "The prime mover made the chain. We're just following the links."

Jack frowned, but Tosh said, as if it weren't their lives they were discussing, "I was reading a book by this mathematician and he said that all of our feelings and our thoughts, the things we think of as us are just a strange loop in a complex system. We're made of meaningless things, chemistry and electricity, but somehow we make meaning out of that."

"And?" Jack asked, curious despite his obvious discomfort with this conversation.

"And it's the whole question of what the self is, Jack."

"See," Jack drawled, pulling his persona around him like a cloak, "that's just talk and talk never was good for much. We're here; that's what matters. I can live without philosophy."

Tosh looked at Jack in frustration, but Ianto just smiled to himself, saying, "I like knowing that I'm doing my part. It makes me feel like I'm important. What I do matters."

Tosh replied, a trifle fiercely, "We all matter. All of us." She glanced at the other pilgrims. "All of us."

"I know," Ianto said. "But also ... we don't matter. Did you hear what the innkeeper was saying earlier today? About how many of his family members were killed by the plague? Including his children." He sighed. "It's hard to hear a story like that and think that we matter. To know that all of this," he looked around, "is already gone and these people are just words on a page, just memories."

Tosh breathed out slowly, buying time. "I can't think like that. I don't want to think about just being words on a page, being a forgotten story."

Jack nodded, finally allowing himself to relax his guard a bit, "I try not to think too much about things like that, to be honest." He smiled sadly. "Because if I do … I realize it's all going to be forgotten stories."

Ianto smiled back at him, a genuinely open smile, and Tosh was glad because if anything could erase the pain in Jack's eyes, it would be that smile right now, that expression of trust and connection. "Speaking of stories," Ianto glanced toward the knight, "I do like how his is about order. That is something I can definitely get behind."

Tosh smiled. "For a while, I thought you had OCD," she teased. "Then I realized that by comparison to Owen and Jack, any amount of tidiness looks like OCD." Jack frowned at her with mock irritation and then broke out a dazzling grin.

They rode in silence, as the tale of Sir Walter droned on. Finally the tale turned and started to wind to a close; Jack turned his head to glance at Ianto, raising an eyebrow. As Jack pulled his horse to the side, Ianto urged his horse along so that they were next to each other, slightly apart from the others.

Jack and Ianto rode a little to the side, out of earshot of the rest of the pilgrims. Ianto turned slightly in his saddle, the leather creaking under him as the horse's skin jumped and flicked in the sunlight, and said, making his own translation of words remembered from a long-ago study session, to Jack, "A knight there was, a worthy man, who from the time that he first began to ride out, loved chivalry, truth, honor, freedom and courtesy."

"Him?" Jack asked, smiling slightly and glancing at the knight.

Ianto regarded Jack steadily without speaking.

"Oh. Is that really how you see me?" Jack asked quietly, a little abashed.

"Sometimes," Ianto said teasingly, his expression still somewhat serious.

"Oh ... sometimes." Jack smiled uncertainly, shifting the reins in his hand and looking down.

"Sometimes. Sometimes you are epic, Jack, larger than life. Sometimes you are so far outside of my experience that I can't get close."

Jack sucked in a breath as if to speak, but didn't, so Ianto continued, "And sometimes you are just a man."

Jack laughed then, looking thoughtful, and replied, "Wonderfully agile, with great strength." He gave Ianto a slow and respectful look. "And he had been in battle."

It was Ianto's turn to laugh. "You've been holding out on us, letting me show off."

"I enjoy listening," Jack said somewhat wistfully. "There was a time when I thought I would never hear your voice again." He paused. "The you that I've found since I came back is somewhat different from the you I left. You remind me of the person I thought I knew ... in the beginning." Jack paused and said a bit mournfully, "You were so young."

Ianto smiled, looking directly at Jack. He said in a flash of daring honesty, "But already crooked timber, Jack." He continued, "I don't really know which person I am ... or ever was. So it's no wonder that you don't really know me." Then he pulled his horse's head firmly to the right and rejoined the main body of the pilgrims, riding next to Alisoun, who first flashed him a cheeky grin, then pulled a serious face at him and laughed and leaned toward him, speaking excitedly.

Walter had evidently reached a high point in his story, saying in a loud and ringing tone, "It is wisdom to make a virtue of necessity, and take it well that we cannot avoid our fates." Some of the other pilgrims nodded at this, and Jack was struck anew by the strangeness of this time, of people who accepted authority telling them that their lives were bound by fate.

Thopas spurred his horse forward to ride next to Jack. "These knights," he said, "do go on, don't they? If I've heard one story about free will and determinism, I've heard them all. For instance, have you read Boethius?"

Jack smiled absently and shook his head.

"No matter, although I highly recommend him. Primum mobile and all of that." Thopas cast a glance at Ianto, who was gravely flirting with Alisoun and making her blush, and said, "It may be that I won't be able to include all of the tales in my book. I don't know that my readers are quite ready for a particular type of story. Maybe they never will be." He glanced at the pardoner surreptitiously.

Jack said lightly, "We don't need to be immortalized," regretting the words as soon as they were out of his mouth, but Thopas did not seem to read into them. He merely laughed and then rode forward to join in the congratulations for the knight's tale, now concluded.

"I don't get it," grumped Gwen, dropping back to ride along side Owen. "The two knights were exactly the same. What does it matter which one got the girl? She didn't really have a choice!"

Owen nodded. "Not to mention that everyone in the story is a blowhard!"

"Who is next?" asked the prioress, her voice cutting across all of their separate conversations. "Let us hear a lighter tale. Perhaps the carpenter can give us one."

The Carpenter's Tale

Ianto fell back in order to ride more closely alongside Jack as he began his story, sitting easily in the saddle. "Sir Walter's story actually reminds me of a story I once heard," Jack began. "It had a similar theme, but the conclusion is somewhat different."

The others gestured for him to begin, but Ianto felt a slight shiver of apprehension run over his skin, and a clench of dread at what Jack might say. It was absurd to feel protective of someone like Jack, but in this mood who knew what he might reveal?

Jack took a deep breath and said, "There was a man, a fighter who had proven himself on the battlefield. But he was also a thief and a liar, a conman who only thought about taking advantage of others." He looked over at Ianto and very visibly schooled his face into an appropriate expression, as if endeavoring to give nothing away for free. "He was pretty good at it, too. He had learned that he could only depend on himself and that he had to always be ready in case someone else would cheat him. The name he used was Robert, although to be honest it had been so long since he'd used his real name that he'd forgotten it or, at least, it didn't mean anything to him anymore.

"Anyway. After a long string of successful con jobs, Robert ended up in a small village in southern England, probably pretty near here. He had just come out of a pub where he had taken advantage of a man and stolen his money. He was standing in the yard, congratulating himself, when he heard a shout from down the road. He ran toward the voice, a woman's voice, and peeked through the trees so that he could see what was happening. There was a woman there, and a highwayman, no better or worse than Robert, was trying to take her purse.  
"Without thinking clearly, Robert stepped forward and knocked the highwayman down, saving the young woman. She looked at him with big eyes and said, 'Who are you?' He replied, 'No one.'

"'Nonsense,' said another voice. Robert whirled around, his hand on his dagger, to face the man who had come up behind him. The man continued, completely unimpressed by Robert's aggressive posture, in fact completely ignoring his existence, 'Rosalyn, I told you to stay nearby. You could've been hurt!'"

Ianto suddenly thought that perhaps this was the story they had all wanted to hear for so long and that this was the only way they would ever get to hear it. He knew, as well, that he needed to commit the entire thing to memory so he could mull it over and try to tease out the truth.  
Jack continued, "Rosalyn said, ignoring the man, 'You can't be no one. Who are you, really?' And Robert didn't have an answer. No one had ever asked him that before."

Nearby, de Rouncivale muttered, "Nonsense. Typical pseudo-intellectual hair-splitting."

Jack smiled, then continued, "Robert managed to convince them to let him travel with them. He said he would act as protection for Rosalyn and her escort, seeing as the man went unarmed through the most dangerous places. They didn't really need him, but Rosalyn was kind and the man was indulgent.

"One day they came upon a strange sight. It was a labyrinth built of stones. From outside you could clearly see the pattern but once inside you couldn't see over the tops of the stone walls. Rosalyn wanted to walk the labyrinth, so of course the two men went along with what she wanted. They always did. They wanted her to be happy. They entered the labyrinth and walked for what seemed like hours, penetrating further and further toward the center.

"When they finally got to the center they discovered there was nothing there, just an empty piece of ground. Rosalyn laughed and said, 'I guess it's time to go back.' Suddenly they heard a terrible sound from beyond the stone wall, a harsh roar that went on and on."

One of the nuns uttered a little cry at this, and Ianto winced in irritation. The last thing he wanted was for Jack to redouble his guard.  
However, Jack continued as if there had been no interruption, "Rosalyn clung to Robert and he felt her fingers dig into his arm. He could feel her expecting him to be strong, to protect her. He gently took her hand and placed it in her guardian's hand, and he stepped cautiously forward.

"He turned the corner and came upon a wild animal. It raised itself up on two legs to strike him down and without hesitation he ran forward to bury his knife in its chest. His last thought as it crushed him was to hope that Rosalyn was safe."

Ianto looked at Jack, expecting somehow to see grief in his eyes. Instead, there was an expression of peace on his face. Ianto felt his heart falter.

"Some time later he awoke, still buried beneath the stinking corpse. He shoved it off of him and got up to discover that he was alone. Rosalyn and her guardian had left him, thinking that he was dead. He was bitter for a while, but he realized that this new life was an opportunity to do good in the world."

A thoughtful silence that followed, broken at last by the young nun who said timidly, "This is a fine tale and one which should instruct us all, but I must confess it is still heavy stuff. I was hoping Robert would marry Rosalyn."

"For myself, I think it was rather facile," remarked the physician. "That ending felt tacked on. And, besides, surely he wouldn't have survived."

The Miller's Tale

With a sideways look, Robyn said drunkenly, "I know a tale about a reeve that will make you all laugh and make a break from all of this serious twaddle. This is the story of a real love triangle ... and it stars a character who may be familiar to some of us," he added with a sideways look and a smile. "In fact, he was a reeve, just as you are, my friend." He winked, as the reeve raised his voice in immediate protest.

Gwen glanced over at Ianto who had schooled his face to a customary mild blankness and who seemed to be serenely enjoying the warm breeze and not to be listening to the tale at all. Then she looked at Jack and saw him watching her with an odd expression on his face. He smiled briefly, a grin that barely touched his lips and came nowhere near his eyes.

She looked away.

The Reeve's Tale

As the miller concluded his tale, the reeve responded with one of his own. He was obviously angry, and some of the other pilgrims exchanged distressed looks. As for Thopas, he was acutely watching the two men, seemingly fascinated by the interactions between them.

Ianto listened for a while and then tuned the others out, preferring to live in the moment, a rare pleasure. He was worried about getting back home, of course, but this was also a bit of a respite from the constant stress of Torchwood. There was so little time for quiet, unhurried existence in life that, all worries about making it back home aside, he was going to draw whatever peace he could from this excursion. And he had made the conscious decision not to think about Jack's tale just yet. That was something to mull over in privacy, not here in the midst of all of these people. The miles passed slowly, but they passed.

A raised voice brought his fellow pilgrims back into focus. "And so we must put up with what we can get!" exclaimed the reeve, as he finally finished the tale. "And try for anything we can get ourselves," he added, a bit more quietly.

"What kind of philosophy is that!" said Gwen loudly, her voice full of disapproval.

"Now, boy, it was a fine tale," replied the cook roughly. "Maybe when you've had some years on you and some experiences you'll understand better. Just wait till you're married, lad!"

The reeve laughed, and the cook continued, "That's what I call a story! But I believe I can match that one with one of my own."

The Cook's Tale

The cook began his tale, but when he said, "And he had a wife who had a shop to keep up appearances but who screwed for a living," Madame Eglantyne shook her head and resolutely herded the clergy to the front of the group, out of earshot. Thopas hastily interrupted the cook and stopped the tale.

Sir Thopas Intervenes

"Now, now, my good man, we have ladies present and I think that's enough of that kind of story!" exclaimed Sir Thopas. "Let us instead enjoy the beauty of this journey for a while, in expectation of a good night's sleep this evening." The cook wanted to protest, but was soon distracted with a flask of ale.

They rode on in companionable enough silence until dusk started to fall. They then quickly found an inn along the road that seemed to cater specifically to pilgrims. Jack hired a room, as did a few of the other pilgrims. Jack also paid for baths for the team so they could wash off some of the worst of the dirt and sweat of the day's journey. Meanwhile, Gwen and Ianto settled the horses and then bathed as well, and they all met to eat afterwards. The food wasn't particularly good, but they were hungry. None of the pilgrims seemed disposed to talk, although Thopas and Alisoun kept up a quiet conversation.

"So are you saying that you would argue with the wisdom of ages?" Thopas asked curiously.

"I'm saying," Alisoun replied, "that I argue with the things men write down in books when it contradicts my own experience. Why should I believe the 'wisdom' men have written about women when they have never had the experience of being a woman?" She studied her hands, chapped from the day's ride.

Thopas frowned. "But wouldn't you agree that we can learn a lot from words that are written down? After all, the holy scripture is written words."

Alisoun nodded, "It's written words that were at one time spoken by people who lived the experience." She looked around. "If you weren't interested in experience, you wouldn't have encouraged the people on this pilgrimage to tell stories."

"Ah, but have you noticed that many of the stories come from the ancients? They've just been altered to suit their tellers."Thopas leaned back, satisfied with his argument.

"That's as may be, but if you think there isn't a grain of truth in each tale that comes directly from each person's experiences then you are not as smart as you look." She smiled at him genially.

The meal came to an end and, bidding the others a cheerful albeit tired goodnight, Jack gestured for his team to follow him to the room he had paid for. It was even smaller than the one at the Tabard, extremely dark, and redolent of sweat and rat droppings.

Almost immediately, Ianto excused himself and went back out into the night.

Owen remarked pointedly, "I'm glad somebody remembered what I said about chamber pots," and threw himself down on a straw pallet. "Not that it could smell any worse in here."

"Fleas, Owen?" Tosh asked, still standing uncertainly.

"These clothes are covered in fleas, the horse is covered in fleas, the beds, everything … what I wouldn't give for a hot shower right now instead of a bucket of lukewarm water that was probably swimming with parasites," Owen groaned, laying a forearm over his eyes. "I don't want to die in fucking medieval times," he groaned to himself. "I still have a lot to do with my life."

Gwen said, sitting down gingerly, unsure of her ground, "Jack, your story--."

Jack hastily cut her off. "It was just a story, Gwen. Time to get some sleep. We'll all be sore tomorrow." He stood uncertainly for a moment, then turned and left the room.


	5. Chapter 5

Ianto turned in the twilight at the sound of footfalls on the rough ground. Seeing a familiar face, he asked, "Jack? Is everything all right?"

Jack grinned at him. "Gwen wanted to talk … and I didn't feel like talking." He shrugged. "I'm not ready."

Ianto said, without malice, "I thought that was why you hired her in the first place. She's the only one of us who's willing to confront things head on." Before Jack could respond, Ianto drifted toward a gap between two ramshackle buildings, knowing Jack would follow.

As soon as they were out of sight of anyone who might enter the yard, Jack stepped close and said, inhaling deeply but not yet touching, "You smell wonderful … like a hard day on a dusty road and sunlight and cut grass." Ianto snorted softly, but Jack continued, "You smell like life." He reached out then and ran his fingers lightly through Ianto's hair. "It's been so long. I wonder what you taste like," he mused, then inhaled again, his face pressed close to Ianto's throat, his lips brushing skin as he spoke. "You … me … in the dark … all alone? All night long?"

Ianto laughed softly, bracing himself against the wall and wrapping the fingers of one hand around the back of Jack's neck, pulling him forward. "Is this my date? Where you get to know me properly?"

"Ah! The date. Well," Jack said, running a curved palm over Ianto's jawline, watching his own hand with a kind of mesmerized fascination, "I was going to take you to dinner. Maybe a movie. Or a moonlit walk?" The smell of wood smoke and dust rising filled the evening air and night birds called from far away.

Ianto didn't say anything, and Jack looked up. As their eyes met, time slowed and the mood changed.

"There are some things we can't take back, Jack. We can't start from scratch." Ianto said softly.

"I know." Jack's heart turned over and he sighed. "Believe me when I say that is something I know all too well." He looked at Ianto expectantly, his hand stilling.

Do you remember?" Ianto asked, his voice as dark as the night and his free hand touching the rough fabric of Jack's clothes almost casually, almost possessively.

Jack looked away into the shadows. "I don't know if it's a good memory or a bad one, Ianto. The first time …." He breathed deeply.

"It's a memory," Ianto replied, settling back against the rough wall and pulling Jack toward him so that they were pressed together. "You came in and saw me, late at night, and you made some kind of suggestive remark." He chuckled softly, raising the fine hairs on Jack's neck. "You touched me … and I fell into you like I hadn't been touched in years, like I had no control at all." Head spinning with the memory, he paused. "I was falling, Jack. Just like I am now. Like I haven't been touched in years."

Jack felt desire rise in him like a tide, sweeping away all caution and good sense like the meaningless rubble they were, and everything was doubled in a vertiginous sweep of shadowy remembrance. Ianto leaning against the wall of Jack's office, too thin, his shirt sleeves rolled up and Jack could see the still-angry line of a burn from the fires in London on one forearm. Ianto's eyes black and blue with shadows, his face pale, deceptively elegant hands reaching out tentatively all the while with an expression of pained desire. Ianto leaning against the rough wattle and daub building, his cheekbone smudged and a shadow of beard on his face, his eyes speaking lust and something else, looking at Jack from so far away that it was like looking through time. Ianto who had seemed for so long to be one thing when he was really something else. Ianto who was still sometimes so unknowable.

Ianto there to take now and to lose later. Ianto alive now, quick and strong, and Ianto lost long ago, gone to dust. Jack's mind was whirling, caught in the dizzy spin of too many thoughts, none of them easy.

To break the spell, Jack leaned into him harder, forcefully, pressing Ianto's body, bone and muscle tight, firmly into the wall in the bruised black shadows of the evening and capturing Ianto's mouth with his lips, bearing down on him, grasping arms and holding them flush against the wall, blood flowing under his skin, brushing against the roughness at Ianto's jaw. He murmured lightly, "This is nice … but maybe we should get a shave in the morning before we leave."

Ianto grunted, pushing back, forcing his hands away from the wall and grasping Jack's forearms, leaning into the kiss and murmuring around it, "Are you afraid to hear about it, Jack?"

Backing away, burying his face in the juncture between Ianto's neck and shoulder, in the intersection of pulse and breath, Jack nodded his head slightly and shivered, feeling himself spread open and seen and known. Feeling himself pinned and helpless.

Ianto whispered, words like the smoke riding in the wind, "I held onto you, did things I never imagined doing, did things I didn't want to do but also burned to do, ached to do." He ran his hands over Jack's body. "It hurt to touch you. It burned away everything I had thought … everything I thought I knew… and I couldn't help myself. And everything hurt." Everything had been raw nerves, open wounds, desperation, and so much desire for touch that he had been starving.

Jack sighed, kissing him quiet. Pulling back for a moment, Jack said, "Did you want me then?"

"I wanted you more than I wanted my life," Ianto replied with an ironic grin. Jack grimaced then, eyes screwed shut, and breathed shakily, but Ianto pulled at his clothes, dragging him still closer, crushing himself between Jack and the world, Jack and the past, Jack's body a strong oak tree to wind around, living and upright and solid. "All I wanted was for you to touch me, Jack. Jack, touch me," he said, speaking faster now, urgently. "I've had to watch you from a distance all day, and I had to lie next to you last night in the same room as Owen Harper and I haven't been able to touch you or be touched."

With a sharp bark of pained laughter, Jack obliged, running palms over Ianto's face, his throat, his shoulders, pressing thumbs against his collar bones, smoothing the fabric over his chest, his hips, down his thighs. Jack pressed close, working one hand in between them, eliciting a quiet gasp.

Ianto leaned into the hands that were coursing over him, reading his skin, and said urgently, "Touch me. I will only be here for a little while. Touch me. You know I'll do anything for you." Ianto swallowed, past holding any words back. "All you have to do is ask."

Jack shivered again.


	6. Chapter 6

Groaning, Owen dragged himself up into the saddle, every muscle in his body protesting. From the stiffness of his companions, he could tell that everyone else was having just as much trouble as he was. Except Jack, of course. Jack bounced out of the inn, talking with great animation to Alisoun. Owen caught Ianto giving Jack a jaundiced eye as he hauled himself along the uneven ground toward his mount and chuckled. "What's the matter, mate?"

Ianto replied grimly, "Why is it that I feel like an old man and he's as good as new?" He braced himself against the horse, leaning into the comforting warmth.

"And you didn't even have any fun to make up for all of this soreness!" Owen said with a touch of sarcasm.

Ianto looked at him evenly.

"No. Don't tell me!" Owen said, holding up his hands. "Don't spook the horses, my good haberdasher!"

The Man of Law's Tale

The man of law started off with his story, saying, "In Syria there was a group of rich merchants who had the best and richest goods for sale." Ianto sighed, unwilling to try to follow the thread of the tale. He couldn't stop thinking about Jack in a bordering-on-obsessive way that disturbed him. He didn't want to be drawn in, out of control, vulnerable. If he were being honest, he didn't know what he felt. Jack wasn't Lisa, not by a long shot, and being with Jack was nothing like being with Lisa. And it wasn't love. But it was something, something fierce and a little bit frightening. Certainly exhilarating, especially if he could keep his mouth shut and not let himself get swept away.

But then again ... what did it matter? It's not like he had anything left to lose. Seizing happiness, excitement … pleasure. What could be wrong with that?

A brief squabble among the pilgrims interrupted his thoughts and he realized that the man of law was already done and that Jack was riding next to him, watching him closely out of the corner of his eye. This was Jack quiet ... Jack unsure ... Jack as he sometimes was now. Jack who could hear words spoken and still doubt. Jack who had been hurt in some terrible and undefined way, who was destined to be hurt again and again, and who was trying to come back. This was the Jack he was trying to learn anew even as he was trying to learn himself anew.

"Where were you?" Jack asked curiously.

"In the past."

"Dangerous country."

Ianto nodded in agreement. "But I had to go through it to get here."

Jack grimaced, looking down at his hands. "Yeah."

The Wife of Bath 's Tale

"My turn!" Alisoun exclaimed happily. "And do I have a tale for you!" Thopas smiled, although some of the others, including the prioress, looked worried.

Alisoun began her tale with a long digression about of her five marriages and it was immediately apparent that, in some ways, she would've done just fine in the 21st century. Gwen looked at Tosh in disbelief and stifled a laugh. She whispered, "This is like reality television or a romance novel."

"Woman! You know, I am engaged to be married, but with these remarks about your poor husbands, you are putting me right off of women," the pardoner interrupted.

"Hm," snorted Robyn, "I'll warrant that wasn't much of a stretch. I don't think you've ever been on a woman." Many of the pilgrims laughed at the remark, but Ianto glanced over at Jack and caught him looking back. Neither man smiled. Ianto wondered if this was how Jack felt all the time, trapped in a time period with a morality very much at odds with his own. Turning to glance at the other pilgrims, Ianto saw that the summoner was looking back at him with an uncertain expression on his face. Ianto kept his face blank and the other man turned away, his brows drawn down again.

"As I was saying," continued Alisoun impatiently, as she launched back into her tale. "Those of you who account love a sin are mistaken.  
"I have always found that an old, rich husband is the best lover, particularly after he is brought to heel. It's not always easy, but in the end they all come round. When they get to the point where they are grateful for a kind word or a little bit of attention or," she smiled, "a little bit of fucking … they're just right!"

Thopas passed a hand over his face in amusement as the prioress sniffed with disdain.

"The apostle says that it's better to marry than to burn, even though he wasn't very fond of the womenfolk. Well, he was right about that. This is who I am, for better or for worse? I can't help that I see things so clearly. For example, why do we have genitals, if not to use them?"

Gwen stifled an astonished giggle and looked at Tosh.

"Just as Jesus fed the multitudes, I have shared my gift freely, always within the bounds of marriage, of course," Alisoun continued blithely.

Brother Huberd protested, "Now, my good woman, this is too much! This is not acceptable at all!"

However, before he could say too much, the summoner who had been visibly fuming and shooting angry glances at several of his companions, told him, "Just shut up! No one wants to hear you. Just let her tell the damn story and be done. Otherwise we'll have to listen to her all day."

"Thank you, sir," Alisoun said with mocking courtesy.

"I'm sorry, but I don't want to listen to this," said Brother Huberd angrily.

"Peace!" exclaimed Thopas. "Let the woman tell her tale."

"I know some of you are shocked, or at least pretend to be, but I'm not sorry. Men have made the rules that women must live by, so a smart woman will do what she has to do in order to prosper. And men might do well to remember that women do not love those who guard them or tell them what to do and where to go. Just like men, we want to be free.

"My fifth husband was especially hard to train. He was always reading stories to me from this book he had, stories about bad women, women who misbehaved and had to be punished. Well, that didn't last long. I didn't care for his proverbs and his tales and I certainly didn't take correction from him! I tore up his book and threw it in the fire."

She went on a bit more slowly, her hand raised to one cheek. "He hit me then. He knocked me down. And after … he said he was sorry. He said he loved me."

Gwen swallowed uncomfortably, her heart dropping at the unexpected somber note in the midst of Alisoun's story

Alisoun continued, "We made up and he promised to honor me and never raise his hand to me again. I made him burn that book and he accepted that the household was mine to run as I pleased. And from this experience, I have thought of a tale for you.

"In King Arthur's time there was a young knight who raped a maiden. He was brought before the king in order to be punished. Arthur, however, decided that it was fitting that the queen decide the punishment, since this was an offense against womankind."

Alisoun then told of the knight's journey and of how he learned that women want to have control. In exchange for learning this lesson, the knight was able to marry a beautiful, young, good woman and live happily ever after.

Tosh said doubtfully, as Alisoun brought her tale to a close, "Her subject matter might be modern in some ways, but that's definitely not a modern perspective. I can't imagine people in our time accepting the 'punishment' the knight was given."

"Oh, come on, Tosh. Sure you can," Gwen replied, her brows knit in irritation. "When I was with the police, I can't tell you how many times I answered a call about a rapist and found the male officers standing around laughing and joking, drinking coffee and talking about rugby, while the victim sat on her couch in shock." She shook her head.

Tosh nodded. "But don't you think people just try to carve out a safe space, an emotional distance, when they're exposed to tragedy? Sometimes I think that's why RetCon works so well on people. They want to forget."

"That might be a factor," Gwen replied doubtfully, "but I just think that men discount women's trauma sometimes. They say we're more emotional, as if that means our emotions are less important. And I think men stick together."

"Well," Tosh said, "maybe."

"And think about the way female characters are shown on TV – they're judged by a different standard than the male characters, even by women," Gwen continued. "Men get a free pass for behaviors that women are crucified for. I'm not at all surprised to find out it's the same here."

Tosh shook her head slightly. "That's the world we have to live in. I guess we just do the best we can."

"But, Tosh," Gwen protested. "Our job is about trying to make the world better."

Tosh replied, "No, our job is about protecting the world from outside dangers." Gwen looked at her in frustration but didn't speak.

They both listened to the last words of the tale in dissatisfied silence.

Riding slightly ahead of the rest of the pilgrims, Jack turned to Owen and Ianto and asked, "So? Do you agree that experience is a better teacher than authority?"

Owen said thoughtfully, "When I was in medical school I learned a lot, but I learned even more once I actually started working. I mean, I hated working with patients, but I learned more in one A&amp;E rotation than I did in all of medical school." He shrugged.

"Ianto?"

"Well, I would've preferred to have kept my knowledge of this time period purely theoretical, but I will admit that I certainly know more than I did previously about life here and now."

"But what about in your own life?" Jack probed.

Nonplussed, Ianto stared at him briefly. "What is it that you think I've done in my life? I grew up and joined Torchwood. That's all there is."

Jack frowned in displeasure, but left it. He might've said more, after a time, but once again quarreling voices were raised, interrupting the soft flow of the afternoon.

Court was assailing the friar, saying loudly, "I don't know why you think any of us are interested in your judgments! I've seen firsthand the way some members of the clergy behave and it isn't godly at all, let me tell you!"

The Friar's Tale

"Your rudeness, sir," Huberd said, looking pointedly at Court, "reminds me of a tale I heard about a summoner who wasn't very smart. I'm sure you know the type. He was such a liar and an evil man!"

The summoner tried very hard to keep his temper in check, but the friar's tale was obviously designed specifically to provoke a reaction. The friar took great delight in his portrait of an immoral summoner who dooms himself to hell. It suddenly occurred to Ianto that there was bad blood here, some kind of long-standing grudge that had flowered out into a tale that seemed almost out of character for Huberd, a man who believed in the story of the miracle at Canterbury.

Thopas asked mildly, when the tale was done, "So are you saying that everything we say is based upon lies? That nothing is certain in life?"

Huberd inclined his head and said, "I'm sure I'm not clever enough to have a deeper meaning in my little tale."

Ianto couldn't help asking Thopas' question again. "Do you really think that we can't know anything for sure?"

For a moment the man looked back at him with blank eyes, then his face morphed into a insincere and foppish expression. "All we can know for real, Ifan, is the grace of God."

Ianto pressed him, "But do you think that all of this is meaningless? Our actions, our suffering, our desires, our feelings? They're in vain?"

"Not meaningless," Jack cut in. "They mean something now."

"But not always."

"No, not always."

"To God this is all an infinite now," corrected Madame Eglantyne, "and therefore meaningful always – especially if our sufferings are offered up to God and our desire is for Him alone."

The Summoner's Tale

"You can be clever and split hairs all you like," replied Court, his hands shaking with suppressed rage, "and you can even insult me and my profession. But lords and ladies, there is only one thing I desire and that is, now that I have been insulted by this lying friar, that you listen to my tale. After all, I have seen the worst of human nature, working in the courts as I do. Believe me, friars come teeming out of the Devil's areshole, and that's the truth. " He looked a challenge at Huberd. "I have many tales I could tell, but this one will suffice."

Jack sighed, and Thopas looked over at him and shrugged.

"Men always seem to let their anger and hatred get the best of them," Thopas said somberly. "I wonder why we can't improve."

Jack replied, "Sometimes I think that nothing ever changes, no matter how long one lives."

Thopas responded, "Are you basing your comment upon your experience, as Alisoun would have us do?"

"In a way. I guess."

Thopas said casually, not taking his eyes from Jack's face, "You know, Boethius says that there is an everlasting law – that all things that are born will fade. There is a cycle. Perhaps we improve individually, through our experiences, even though, as a race, we don't seem to get any better."

Jack smiled tightly. "Maybe."


	7. Chapter 7

As they rode along, they caught sight of a cloud of black smoke boiling up over the horizon, twisting and turning shapes in the breeze. The pilgrims fell into an uneasy silence, some watching the smoke as they rode and others resolutely ignoring it. Madame Eglantyne and a few others delicately drew cloths over their noses and mouths and Alisoun removed a small bottle of scent from a hidden pocket, unstopped it, and held it to her nose.

Gwen asked, turning in her saddle to look at the sky, "What is it?"

Thopas replied, urging his horse forward, "Nothing we need concern ourselves with, Gerard."

"But what is it? Maybe someone needs help." Gwen looked around at the others uncertainly. "Shouldn't we check and see if there's anything we can do?"

"There's nothing we can do, you fool," rumbled the summoner, still angry at the indifferent reception his tale had received. "It's a plague fire. They're probably burning the bodies. And we are endangering ourselves by remaining in this bad air." He spurred his horse on and, along with the other pilgrims, hastened down the road.

"Who's burning bodies?" Owen demanded, pulling back on his horse's reins and fighting the tide of pilgrims.

"The ones who are left," Court replied shortly, his voice drifting back.

Gwen pulled her horse to a walk. "We should go help them. Maybe there's something we can do." She looked at Owen and, after a moment, he nodded in agreement.

Jack reined his horse in, close to Owen's. "There's nothing we can do," he said quietly.

"How do we know unless we try?" Gwen protested.

"I know," insisted Jack, his voice growing more agitated. "Just leave it!"

"We have to try!"

Owen said, "Maybe we should go take a look, Jack."

"Owen," Jack said harshly. "They're already dead. This happened a long time ago. Let it go. You don't know what you're talking about."

"I'm a doctor, Jack. Maybe you forgot that during your absence?" Anger flickered up in Owen's voice and he narrowed his eyes.

Jack glared at him and replied, "I said to let it go, so you will let it go. No discussion. This," he gestured at the smoke in the distance, "has already happened. They're already dead, and nothing you can do will bring them back."

Owen stared at him in disbelief. "Then we're all already dead, too, Jack. Isn't that right? We happened a long time ago, didn't we?" He stopped his horse at the crossroads defiantly.

Jack looked at him with empty eyes. "Yeah," Jack said dismissively. "We're all already dead. Let's go. We have to catch up with the others." He reached out and grabbed for the reins to Owen's mount.

"I don't care. You don't always know what's best. I'm going to go check," Owen bit out, wrenching the reins from Jack's fist. "It's my job," he added in a fierce mutter.

"Brother," called the parson with a placating gesture, his expression troubled as he looked back down the road at Owen and the others, "your zeal is admirable, but they are gone and in the hands of God now. There's nothing any of us can do."

Owen laughed angrily, shot another defiant look at Jack, and clapped his heels to the grey's sides, startling it into motion. The horse's hooves churned up the dust, a drifting cloud of ash and dry earth that obscured the road, as Owen set a steady pace down the side road.

Jack and Ianto looked at each other, their horses dancing nervously. Ianto said, "We have to --."

"I know," Jack snapped in an irritated voice, his eyes flat and dark. He wheeled his horse to face Tosh and Gwen, thrust a forefinger at them, and barked, "You two stay with the others and head for Canterbury. We'll catch you up on the road or there … and if we don't, do what you have to do. Don't wait."

"But--," Gwen started.

"We will," Tosh assured him. "We'll do what has to be done."

Gwen said, "Tosh!"

"We can do more to help them from the other side," Tosh said with quiet certitude. "Besides, Cardiff needs us."

Thopas caught Jack's eye and nodded, riding close by the two women. "I'll stay with them, John. We'll meet you in Canterbury if not before."

"Thank you." Jack turned back toward Ianto and raised an eyebrow. Ianto nodded. The two men took off after Owen without a look back.

They rode without speaking. Ianto could feel the fear radiating from Jack, could see in his body language all of his concern about his team, all the ways in which he could lose them here, to the plague or an accident or even just to time. And, in turn, Ianto worried about Jack, who seemed more fragile now, for all his rage, than he ever had before.

They caught up with Owen just on the outskirts of the village proper. Acrid and suffocating smoke filled the air, and they wound their cloaks over their noses and mouths so as to be able to breathe. Owen turned and looked at them, daring either man to comment. Jack just shook his head.

The thick smoke that filled the air made Ianto's head spin and his eyes water. The strange thing was that, on top of the greasy stench of death, he thought he could detect the odors of rosemary and lavender, smells that reminded him of his mother's kitchen. The streets were empty, the houses covered in a grayish dust, and the sky, through billowing clouds of grit and smoke, was a sore, painful red.

He heard a slight, scraping sound to his right and he glanced over. There was a decomposing dog carcass lodged against the side of a house and, as Ianto watched in disbelief, thin gray snakes appeared to boil up out of the blackened flesh. He started, feeling a light touch on his arm, and his head jerked to the left. Jack was leaned over in the saddle, reaching out to him and looking at him in concern, his eyes finally alive again.

Ianto nodded weakly, swallowing.

As they rounded a corner, a small church loomed up in the smoke and suddenly they heard voices, both chanting and screaming.

A group of men, stripped to their waists and clad only in long, pleated skirts of rough fabric, stood in front of the church, hemmed in on two sides by a desperate looking group of men, women, and children. The men in the center were singing a hymn, chanting in unison. At intervals, they threw themselves bodily to the ground, their arms stretched fully to their sides. After staying in that position for a while, they rose and chanted again. After several rounds of this, they took up bundles from the ground and shook them out, freeing long braided leather laces. They began to strike themselves over their shoulders in time to their chants.

Ianto made an involuntary sound of disgust, and a villager looked back and saw them.

"Yow! Straungers! Leave here lest yow wist to deye!" the man called, drawing the attention of the crowd.

"We're here to help," Owen called. "I'm a doctor."

The man responded. "Whatte langage is þis? Doctor of whatte?"

Ianto said in response, "Of physik. He is a doctor of physik."

"Lier! Sei how þart arrayed; þart no doctor!"

The leader of the flagellants spoke at this point. "Only God kanne saue þis place, God ond þe scorge. We haf no use of doctors here, and we will suffer no distractioun."

"Idiot," muttered Owen, climbing down from his horse. "Let me help you." He handed the reins to Jack who took them reluctantly.

However, the villagers, spurred on by the flagellant's words, formed a wall between Owen and the church, their faces were suffused with rage and terror. The smoke drifted across the ground, winding among the stiff figures.

Ianto urged softly, "Owen, get on your horse. Owen!" He tried to calm his own mount, stroking the nervous horse's neck with his hand.

Owen ignored him, taking another step forward. "This is a disease, caused by the bite of an infected flea. We can route out the fleas through burning and, I don't know, some kind of poison--"

"Pocion, þei haf putte pocion in þe welle!" cried a woman. "Ic seid it was trewe whatte was seid in þe market!"

"No!" called Owen. "We can kill the fleas that are causing the disease to spread."

The crowd murmured louder and a stone was thrown, catching Owen on the shoulder.

"Hey! We just want to help, you idiots!" he protested angrily, taking two steps backward. Another stone was thrown, this time striking Owen's horse.

As Jack fought to control the horse, Ianto leapt down and darted forward, grabbing Owen and dragging him backward as still more stones were thrown. "Owen, come on!" Ianto turned away from the advancing villagers in order to force Owen further back.

Standing in his stirrups, Jack leaned down and grabbed him as well. He hoisted Owen onto the horse with him and turned both of their mounts sharply, digging in his heels. Together the horses sped down the road, raising a cloud of yellow dirt.

A space down the road, as the clamor behind them died away, Jack turned in the saddle and saw Ianto's horse, sans rider, following.

Uttering a curse, he brought his horse to an abrupt halt and shoved Owen to the ground.

"Get up. We have to go back. They have Ianto."

"What?" Owen said dizzily, staggering to his feet and clinging to his horse to keep it from bolting.

"Get on your horse," Jack growled, gripping the reins so tightly that they cut into his flesh. "We're going back."

They rode in dead silence, the air around them stiff with smoke. Finally they came to the near side of the village. Jack wheeled his horse around, searching the perimeter, letting his anger sustain him. After long moments spent scanning the long grass and peering through the dust and smoke, he said, "Maybe he fell on the way out of the village --."

Owen pointed suddenly, his hand trembling slightly, "There! By the pit! Is that him?"

Jack drove his horse forward urgently, his eyes fixed on the still form lying on the ground by the lip of the pit. Owen, however, got there before Jack, sliding to the ground before his horse had even come to a complete stop. "It's him," Owen said. He pushed aside the long grass and said softly, "Come on, mate. Don't be dead."

He knelt down and carefully set his fingers to the side of Ianto's throat, feeling for a pulse. The pounding of his own heart made him unsure for a long moment, but then he breathed a sigh of relief.

"Is he alive?" Jack asked harshly from where he stood a few paces behind.

"Yes," Owen replied. He carefully turned Ianto over on his back, supporting his head and neck as best he could. "Ianto," he said urgently. "Wake up. We have to get out of here."

Ianto stirred slightly and then opened his eyes, looking confused. He reached up and touched his temple, where a knot was already forming. Owen ran him through a quick series of checks, making him count fingers, move his arms and legs, and then said, "You'll do. Can you ride?"

"Yes."

"OK, then." Owen got up and extended a hand. Jack did the same, and they both hauled Ianto to his feet. He winced, staggering a bit, and then suffered himself to be helped onto his horse.

Jack said sharply, not looking at either one of them, "I want to catch the others up before dark."

By riding hard, they were able to rejoin the group within the hour. The pilgrims confined themselves to quick glimpses and muttered remarks. Jack sat on his horse, his face a stiff mask, and ignored all of Gwen's attempts to catch his eye. Owen rode silently next to Tosh, his fingers wrapped securely around the reins. As for Ianto, he sat dumbly on his horse, his expression blank and bereft of all emotion.


	8. Chapter 8

The Clerk's Tale

Sir Thopas said, breaking the uneasy silence, "Sir John, you've been awfully quiet. I would surmise that you have a tale to tell us, and I think perhaps we could all do with an entertaining story."

The young clerk, a slight blush staining his emaciated cheeks, huddled deeper into his heavy coat. "I don't know. I confess I haven't been inspired by some of these frankly immoral tales."

"Well, then. You can better us," Thopas responded lightly. "Surely there is a tale that can instruct us, perhaps something inspired by the teachings of Aristotle?"

The clerk sighed, "Very well. I do have a tale for you. It is the story of a wealthy man who cannot trust that the girl who married did so out of love rather than cupidity. This is the story of the faithful Griselda."

Grateful for something that might serve as a distraction, Gwen raised an eyebrow at Tosh and mouthed, "Griselda?" Tosh stifled a nervous laugh. Gwen glanced at Jack and then at Owen, but neither of them met her eyes, or even seemed to notice her quick look.

The clerk began his story. "There was a nobleman who did not like to plan for the future. His people wanted him to be married and put some pressure on him to do so, so he finally did. He selected the virtuous daughter of the poorest man in the village."

Tosh and Gwen listened with growing outrage at the mistreatment of Griselda. The clerk recounted how her husband mistreated her and how she bore his mistreatment without complaint.

At the conclusion of the tale, the clerk intoned, "And thus everyone should be constant in adversity."

"Or," rejoined Gwen, unable to help herself, "men shouldn't lay traps for women they supposedly love!"

"Yes! He's right," exclaimed Alisoun. "Gerard, you are going to make some woman a wonderful husband one day."

Gwen fell silent, three fingers laid over the band on her finger.

The Merchant's Tale

The merchant, seemingly intent upon besting the clerk's tale of marriage, mocked the final words of the story, repeating them ironically. He continued, "Let me tell you how women really behave! I have a story about a wife that will horrify you … although the merchant in the story did make a tidy sum out of the deal."

"Do you mean to tell us a story from your own experience?" Alisoun asked curiously.

"No, not my own. But from the experience of all men, if they would only admit to it."

"Hmph. One of those," she replied with resignation.

"Marriage is so easy and so pure that it is paradise on Earth," the merchant intoned, but his tone was sarcastic. Gwen twisted her engagement ring around her finger uncomfortably.

"They have such a low opinion of marriage," she said quietly to Tosh. "I wonder why."

Tosh shrugged. "I don't know."

Gwen twisted in her saddle to glance back at Ianto, then she looked back at Tosh, "I wonder what happened? Ianto looks awful. He looks like somebody hit him."

With a slight frown, Tosh said, "I asked Owen, but he wouldn't tell me."

"That's all we need," Gwen sighed. "Another Jack. Don't they know we all need to know what's going on?" She glanced over her shoulder at Ianto again, and then added, "Have you asked Ianto directly?"

"Why don't you ask him?"

"I'm afraid to."

They listened in silence to the rest of the merchant's tale.

The Squire's Tale

At the end of the merchant's cynical tale, Thopas cast around hopefully, "Has anyone got a more cheerful tale for us?"

The squire, a young man of about twenty, replied, pushing back his wide sleeves, "Yes, I have one."

"Ah, wonderful! Please tell us a tale of love. You, of all of us, must have the most experience in love."

With false modesty, the squire said, "Well, I've had the most opportunity. But I do think I have a tale you will enjoy." However, Hhs tale was a mass of characters and obscure references and the occasional Latin sentence and most of the pilgrims gave up trying to follow it within minutes. People began looking around at the scenery, conversing quietly in pairs, and even drowsing in the saddle. Even when the cook began snoring, the squire seemed oblivious to their inattention.

They finally arrived at inn, tired and out of sorts. The other pilgrims, with the exception of Thopas, still seemed eager to avoid Jack, Ianto, and Owen, so the team sat separate from the main group and had a brief, unpalatable dinner. Then, as a group, they rose to retire to their room. Once again, Jack's smooth talk and generous purse had procured them some privacy while others of the pilgrims were bedding down on the floor of the inn's main room.

Once in their room, Ianto shivered, wrapping his cloak around himself, and Owen looked at him sharply. "What's wrong?"

"I'm cold." He shivered again, trying to stave off the dread-filled exhaustion that swept through him.

Owen stepped forward abruptly and checked his forehead with the back on one hand. "You may have a little fever. Take off your dress."

"What?" Ianto asked, surprise warring with the weariness in his voice.

"I want to check you," Owen replied sharply. Ianto felt his hands and face turn numb with apprehension, and he saw Jack's expression go rigid.

"Fuck you, Owen," he said softly, as if by resisting Owen he could resist reality.

"I mean it, Ianto. Take off this damn tabard thing," Owen's voice rose and Ianto looked at him incredulously. "It's early on, but you have chills --."

Ianto said, "You think I've caught it." His stomach cramped and he felt a clench of fear drawing him deep down inside himself.

"Well, you were lying in a fucking field full of corpses, weren't you? God damn it!" Owen said in exasperation. "Just take it off so I can check you."

"What happened?" Gwen exclaimed, her eyes wide. "Jack, what happened at the village?"

Jack ignored her question, eyes fixed on Owen.

"All right, all right." Ianto started to undo the ties on his tabard, his fingers shaking slightly. Owen quizzed him as he did so.

"Stiffness?"

"They beat me up when I tried to get away, Owen."

"Bruises under the skin? Are you sore?" Owen's voice was clinical and detatched as he began his examination.

"Again," Ianto's voice was muffled by the cloth as he raised the tabard over his head, "they beat me up."

"Pain while breathing? Shortness of breath?"

"Just from being beaten up," Ianto repeated, sitting on the edge of the pallet, his head spinning.

"Nausea? Loss of motor control? Dizziness?"

"I'm fine," Ianto protested tiredly, his mind refusing to process Owen's words. He shivered again.

The others watched, Jack pacing with tight control while Gwen stood with her arms crossed and Tosh looked at Ianto helplessly. Owen looked him over, checking his throat, under his arms, his arms, and torso, running quick and professional hands over every inch of exposed skin. "Take down your tights, mate."

"What!"

Jack spoke then. "Just do it, Ianto." There was an edge of fear in his voice, a sharpness that cut the air.

"Jack!" Ianto protested.

"Please, Ianto, just do it," Jack said dully, passing his fingers over his face and closing his eyes.

Tosh spoke decisively, "Come on, Gwen. Let's go take a walk." She tugged at Gwen's arm.

Gwen turned, her face drawn and worried, and followed Tosh out of the room.

Outside in the twilight, Gwen said, "What if he has it?"

"All the more reason to get back. If he does, I say we leave now and ride on to Canterbury tonight. I don't care how many highwaymen are about," Tosh said fiercely. "Then we find the time slip and get home where he can be treated."

Gwen nodded. After waiting for about ten minutes, both women looked at each other and silently went back inside.

"Well?" Gwen demanded as they entered the room.

"No swelling. No spots. No rash. He's clear … for now," Owen said, exhausted and wrung out. "But it's early days. I'll need to keep checking."

Jack was pacing the floor again, and Ianto was sitting with his back to the wall, knees drawn up, looking subdued.

Tosh echoed Owen's words softly, "For now." She shuddered and wrapped her arms around herself.

"Thank God," Gwen breathed. "I don't know what we would do if …"

Ianto said in a flat voice, "They blame God for this. Try to appease Him. This is madness."

Tosh sat next to him and put a tentative hand on his arm.

Jack said sharply, "You go on, Gwen. That's what you do. You lose someone … everyone … and you go on. Ianto knows about that, don't you, Ianto?" He stared down at Ianto challengingly.

Gwen protested, "Jack!"

Jack turned on her, "You don't know anything about it, Gwen, so you don't get to have an opinion until you do."

Tosh responded, "Jack, calm down. We're all fine."

Turning back toward her, Jack said, "We're fine. We're all fine. Are we fine, Ianto?"

Ianto ignored him, but Tosh looked up at Jack, her eyes hurt and uncomprehending. Gwen stepped between them, "Jack," Gwen said, taking his arm, "Jack, sit down."

Jack shook her off and continued to pace, shooting the occasional indecipherable look at Ianto.

Ianto spoke suddenly, "Before I lost consciousness, they showed me the corpses in the pit. They asked me what made me think we could stop something like that. It's a fair question, isn't it? We can't ever seem to stop tragedies from happening."

"Medicine. Medical science conquered the plague," Owen said, his voice as thin as smoke.

"Yeah, but we all end up in the pit anyway, don't we?" Ianto said almost conversationally. Tosh squeezed his forearm and then released it, rising to her feet.

"Shut up!" Jack stopped, spun on his heel, and faced Ianto, looming over him and jabbing a finger at him. "Shut up! You don't know what the end of the world is like."

"This," Ianto lifted his arm tiredly and gestured around him at the bare room and the world beyond the walls. "This is what the end of the world is like."

"This is nothing," Jack spat, his voice full of venom.

"This is what it's like, Jack, even if your end of the world is completely different … or mine. It's a pit full of bodies that once were people. That's the end of the world, a thousand times over." The two men stared at each other.

The tableau was broken by a knock at the door. Gwen looked at everyone and then went to answer it. Thopas stepped inside the room.

"My friends," he began, "I'm so happy that you made it back safely. Was it indeed a plague village?"

Owen nodded shortly.

"And are the three of you still in good health?"

Jack said, "We seem to be. I assure you, if I thought we were ill, we would leave immediately to avoid infecting you or the others."

Thopas smiled sadly, "By the time you realized you were sick, it would probably be too late, but I thank you for your courtesy. I'll see you in the morning, then." He took his leave, pulling the door shut behind him.

Ianto said abruptly, "I'm tired. I'm going to sleep." He got up clumsily from his place on the floor and walked over to one of the pallets, lay down on it, and closed his eyes. Jack watched him for a minute, his eyes dark, his expression unreadable, and then walked over to the pallet and lay down next to Ianto, careful not to touch him. He heard the floor creak as Owen lay down and heard soft murmurs as Tosh and Gwen settled onto the other pallet. As Jack felt Ianto's body loosen and relax, the electricity that he had felt sparking between them since they had reached the inn fading, some of his own anxiety ebbed away though his guilt did not. He lay in the dark, sleepless, feeling the rise and fall of Ianto's breathing shift as he fell into sleep. Around them, the sounds of the night filtered into the room.


	9. Chapter 9

Ianto stood in a vast underground hall, the roof arching high overhead, smelling of the earth that must surround it, music dimly playing in the distance. The light was pale and striated, but he could make out the shapes of couples dancing in a stately manner, like something out of an old movie.

Suddenly, a painfully familiar voice came from behind him, saying, "May I have this dance?"

He turned and saw Lisa, her face unmarred by either metal or the strange immobility of features that the partial conversion had wrought. He felt a stupid smile spread over his own face, and he wordlessly held out his arms for her to step into. Her body felt as lithe and strong as ever and he leaned in close to catch a whiff of her scent.

"I've missed you," he whispered in her ear, not caring that this must be a dream, and she shivered and looked up to face him, her smile bright and steady.

"I've missed you, too," she said simply, and held him closer.

He whirled her across the dance floor, mixing with the other couples. She was as light and strong in his arms as ever and he relaxed into the feel of her, the closeness and intimacy of being with her. Gradually, however, he noticed that the other dancers drew away from them, the women pulling back their skirts in alarm and the men uttering expressions of disgust. He glanced around worriedly and Lisa asked, concern in her eyes, "What is it, love?'

"I don't know," he admitted, still reveling in the touch of her hands, the press of her body against his, the warmth of her skin.

Suddenly, he felt a wet writhing against the palm of the hand he had pressed to the small of her back. He drew back then, his pulse beating erratically. The words were forced from him, escaping from his lips. "Lisa, turn round."

"Why?" she asked, looking into his eyes. "What's wrong?"

"Just do it," he smiled at her reassuringly, and so she turned, playfully holding out the skirt of her dress.

As she spun round, a flood of corruption that stank of putridity and of death, of viscous red liquid and wet creatures, cascaded down her back and the face that he loved fell away, exposed as a mask stretched over a metal cage. He stepped forward instinctively, trying to gather her up in his arms, trying desperately to put her back together, but the other dancers closed on him and dragged him away. As he struggled, a voice in his ear said persistently, "Ianto. Ianto. Ianto, I'm here."

He woke to find himself wrapped in the stillness of the dark and in Jack's arms, Jack's face inches from his own. Ianto felt tears on his face and realized he had been crying in his sleep and that his fists were tightly clenched.

"It was only a dream, Ianto. It was only a dream," Jack murmured, trying to give him solace. "Like the song, life is but a dream."

"That isn't comforting, Jack," he complained softly, the dream still deep inside him, and Jack huffed a silent laugh in his ear. Ianto shivered and Jack held him tighter. But Ianto pushed back, unwilling to be comforted, and he felt Jack retreat, loosen his arms. Ianto whispered, staring up into the darkness, "I need air; I can't breathe."He sat up stiffly, grunting slightly as his bruises made themselves known, and then stood. As he made for the door, he felt rather than heard Jack behind him.

In the short corridor, they did not speak, and they silently picked their way among the sleeping bodies in the main room of the inn, their steps raising the dusty scent of vervaine and lemon balm from the scattered rushes.

Once outside, Ianto looked up at the stars and breathed deeply. "I don't want to die here. I want to go home."

"Is that what you dreamed about? We're going home," Jack replied comfortingly in the darkness. "We'll be in Canterbury soon and then we'll step through the light and go home." He paused and then said roughly, "I'm sorry that I left you behind. I thought you were right behind us."

Ianto sighed, frustrated. "I was. I fell, like a victim in a horror movie. And had to be rescued like one, too."

Jack chuckled softly. "Don't tell me you were worried about your dignity."

"Jack?"

"What?" His voice was so quiet it was just a breath in the still night air.

"You won't remember me."

"How can you say that? Of course I will."

"How? Look how long ago this all is." There was an edge to Ianto's voice now, a tension he struggled to control, metal threads running through his muscles and tensing them.

"Ianto, I remember the people who are important to me. I … have you heard of a memory palace? My memory is a vast place; it has to be. I can't carry it all with me all the time. But it's all in there. There's a room with all of my memories of you in that place," Jack explained. "When I need to, or just want to, I can open the door and step into that room. And you'll be there."

Ianto wrapped his arms around himself and whispered, "I don't want to be a memory. I don't want to disappear into the dark."

"That's what waits for everyone in the end," Jack said sadly. "I can't change that." He reached out and lightly touched Ianto on the shoulder. "Let's go back to bed."


	10. Chapter 10

The next morning, when Ianto awoke, Jack was already gone. Shakily, his muscles twitching and aching, he rose and went to find some water for a makeshift bath and a shave. He didn't see Jack until they were all saddling up their horses for the morning's ride and, even then, Jack would not meet his eyes. It seemed as though the only time they could bear to look at each other was in the night.

Once the day's ride began, Thopas reminded Ianto that he had an obligation to tell them all a tale.

The Haberdasher's Tale

"This tale is called The Dream of the Lover," said Ianto in a light tone that barely betrayed his nervousness. He couldn't believe he had the courage to tell a story to Geoffrey Chaucer ... but he had to admit that he relished the challenge. It wasn't often that he let himself be the center of attention.

Thopas said, smiling encouragingly, "I see you are schooled in the literature of your native land."

Ianto smiled back at him. "There was a man who loved a woman."

"An auspicious beginning, friend," said Alisoun. "Let's hope he treated her with courtesy and respect."

Leaning into the horse's stride and wrapping the reins loosely around his fist, Ianto continued, "He loved her more than he loved his own life. He loved her like the bright air on a cold morning when the world is new and like cool water at the end of a long day's work. Like yellow sunlight passing dappled over the dark trees. He had nothing, had never had anything, so when she seemed to notice him, he devoted himself to her. He dreamed of being with her, even though he knew it was just a dream. The dream had to be enough because that's all there was.

"A love like that can be dangerous. It means loss of control and disorder," Ianto said, and Sir Walter nodded gravely, his face thoughtful. "But this love was an uncontrollable burning and he was only happy when he was near her, when he was serving her, satisfying her whims, protecting her."

On the horse next to him, Gwen shifted uneasily.

"The man, his name was Manfred, worked as a seneschal in a manor, the estate of a powerful lord, one of the Marcher Lords who dabbled in alchemy."

"Dark work," muttered the nun's priest, crossing himself.

The reeve, his expression showing he had taken offense, retorted loudly, "It is hard work to manage a large estate. People don't realize how much skill and intelligence it takes!"

"That," averred the manciple, "is certainly true. Certainly true. Why, one man's life is hardly long enough for him to acquire all the skills necessary to be a good seneschal!"

Ianto continued as if they hadn't spoken, "Manfred had lived in this house since he was a boy; from birth he had been this lord's man, and he had never known any other life. All he had ever wanted was to serve in this household where amazing things happened and mysteries were exposed. He was an educated man, of course. He protected his lord's wealth through his knowledge of the law as well as through frequent visits to all of the alchemist's properties. And he was very knowledgeable of people, knowing who was likely to steal, who could be trusted.  
"The alchemist had a beautiful daughter named Elizabeth who had a quick wit and a sharp tongue; in fact, she often studied with her father and helped him in his work, although she just as often criticized it. Her father indulged her as she was the only real family he had.

"And she noticed Manfred, as no one had ever noticed him before, as a man and not just as the manager of the manor. He was flattered when she came peeking through the doorway to the room where he was hard at work on the accounts. And when she crossed his path in the town and smiled at him as if she could really see into him, he knew that he was shattered for any other woman."

Ianto paused, looking straight ahead for a moment although his thoughts were far away from the road before him. "And when he heard her sing as she worked in the garden, he knew that she was the other half of him and he had already been broken in two without even knowing it." He stopped speaking, lost in thought.

"A right paragon," interjected Sir Walter kindly.

"Yes. She was," Ianto said softly. "Manfred was a workingman, powerful within the household but powerless outside of it, so he knew he could never hope to have her. He would have to be content to love from afar. But that was all right because it was enough."

"Why must we always know our place, though, Ifan?" queried Alisoun somewhat bitterly. "Where's the justice in that?"

Ianto shrugged in response and went on. "One day, an ordinary day, one of those days when the sun is bright and the air is clear and delicious and there are no shadows anywhere … one day Manfred was working on the alchemist's accounts. He was determining how much money the household could afford to spend that season. The lord wanted to celebrate the harvest in style, so Manfred was trying to find a way to spend what the lord wanted without straining the household finances.

"He heard a soft noise outside, just out the window. It was the kind of noise that one usually ignores, an object shifting as the day heats up or a branch moving in the breeze. But for some reason, he looked up, set down his pen, and rose. He walked across the stone floor to the window and he looked out into the sunlight, but he didn't see anything wrong. Then from the other side of the household, he heard a strange sound, a clashing of metal and wood and stone. He smelled an acrid smoke that carried a sulfurous tang, oily and polluting. 'What is that?' he exclaimed, not knowing where to go or what to do. 'Has an experiment gone wrong?' He followed the sounds to the part of the manor where the alchemist's workshop lay. A terrible and unearthly scream issued forth from the chamber and smoke came boiling through the doorway. He peered inside and saw that everything was lit with a red, unearthly light. Then he heard the alchemist's voice.

" 'Manfred!' the alchemist called, in a harsh and terrible voice. 'You must save her!'

"That's all it took. Manfred stepped through the door with no hesitation. Inside, he saw a whirling storm of smoke and ashes and Elizabeth and her father lying on the floor, both choking on the black smoke that poured into their mouths. Manfred lifted Elizabeth in his arms and carried her out of the room, set her down gently and then turned back to rescue his employer. At that moment, the walls of the house shattered, stone and mortar falling all around him, and the smoke, released from its prison spread out over the surrounding land, destroying everything in its path. It was as if the world were ending." Ianto took a deep breath.

"Manfred carried Elizabeth's broken body to a clearing in the woods, as far from the destruction as he could manage, and laid her there. She was burning with an unnatural fever and she looked up at him with sick and frightened eyes. Even her voice was harsh and grating and full of agony now.

"'Manfred,' Elizabeth said. 'You must kill me. There's a demon in me and I'm not strong enough to hold it any longer. I am my father's daughter and I understand this is how it must be. Kill me before it's too late.' But Manfred was weak in the face of love and he couldn't. He lacked the courage. And he preferred to hope. So he went back to the remains his lord's house looking for help. As he approached the broken walls of the manor, he heard screams and shouts. Manfred hid behind the smoking ruins, listening to the voices of the villagers. They were cursing the lord for what he had brought upon them. As he listened, wondering if he could appeal to them for help, could persuade them to help Elizabeth, to help him, he heard a man's voice raised in anger.

" 'Did you work for that devil?' the voice asked, rough with fear and loss.

" 'Yes, yes, I did,' a woman sobbed. It was the housekeeper. Somehow she had survived the destruction and was now in the hands of the mob.

" 'Then you have helped in this damnation and caused the death of my son whose only crime was that he was walking down this road when the manor fell!' the man's voice continued in a furious rage. 'Kill her,' he commanded.

"Like a coward, Manfred stayed hidden behind the wall, listening as the housekeeper was cut down. He knew then that he could not trust anyone to save them.

"After the last servant had been executed, the villagers left the ruins of the manor and Manfred emerged from his hiding place. He returned to the place in the woods where he had left Elizabeth and sank down on the ground next to her. Her eyes opened ... but they were not her eyes. He knew he was looking into the face of the demon. He said, his voice hoarse with shock and despair, 'Please leave her body. She's broken and will die soon. I'll give you my body if you'll let her alone.' The demon laughed with his beloved's voice, 'Stupid man, what does it matter if she dies anyway?' Manfred replied, 'I want her to die as herself. That way she can be saved.' 'And you?' 'I don't matter,' he replied numbly. In that moment, Elizabeth's body arched on the ground, an unearthly shriek parted her lips, and she perished. Manfred waited for the demon to enter him ... but it had gone."

"It was defeated by the power of his selfless love," sighed the prioress, sniffing a little. The miller snorted.

Ignoring them both, Ianto said, "He buried her body there in the forest and left that evening, walking through the dark until he couldn't walk anymore. All he wanted was to get away from this place of pain and start anew somewhere else, but it wasn't meant to be. Manfred collapsed on the side of the road and there he died, the last victim of the alchemist's hubris."

All of the pilgrims were silent for a short while and the only sound was the breeze through the trees and the thud of the horses' hooves on the road.

The Franklin's Tale

Clearing his throat, the franklin said gently, "Ah, that reminds me of a story I once heard, I guess it must've been about ten years ago. Hm, yes, that sounds about right. Anyway …"

Ianto numbly listened to the franklin talk about respect and tolerance, values he didn't usually associate with this time period if he were being honest. What had possessed him to talk about Lisa? Why, after all of this time and everything that had happened … and after Jack had come back … supposedly for him, if he believed that. After the team had forgiven him, why did he go and remind everyone of what he'd done? Why was he raising old ghosts? He wasn't even the same person anymore.

A unexpected light touch on his arm made him jump, briefly startling his horse. As he calmed her with a palm flat against her neck, he glanced over and saw Owen looking at him expectantly.

"So … Manfred … is that your porn name?" Owen grinned, poking him with a hard finger.

Ianto smiled back in relief.


	11. Chapter 11

The Physician's Tale

The physician's tale droned on and on around them, a pointless morality tale told with little spirit or enthusiasm, and Jack thought idly about how many words people wasted. How many words were destined to be wasted before the universe ended, he wondered. And how many of them would he have to hear. Sometimes there was very little of importance to say and sometimes there was too much; in his opinion, silence said a lot more than speech.

But then he had wasted plenty of words himself, if he were honest. And maybe not said everything he needed to say.

He was dimly aware of the ending of the tale, but he was brought back fully to present day by Gwen's sharply uttered, "That's it? Death happens to everyone and we can't escape? How is that meant to inspire us?"

Jack felt obligated to point out, although he knew his grin was strained rather than carefree, "It's not the worst thing that can happen."

She looked at him full in the face, "Yes, it is." Then, more softly, she said, "I remember what Suzie told me. It's the worst thing."

He sighed, "So you would rather go through all the loss and the uncertainty and pain than live a normal life?"

"That is a normal life, Jack! Loss – we've all experienced loss. All of us. And we will again. We may even lose each other. And the uncertainty? That's the human condition." She paused, then added, "I know I probably can't imagine what your life is like, but you know what mine is like. You know how terrifying it can be. And you know about the darkness and the loneliness at the end, the place the rest of us won't get to leave." She shivered in the hot sun.

Ianto interjected, hesitantly, "All we know about that is the little that Jack has told us and what Suzie said. I don't know that I trust what Suzie had to say and as for Jack …" he trailed off.

Stung, Jack turned on him, "As for Jack what?"

"Well, maybe it's different for you." Ianto's expression was thoughtful, as if mollifying Jack were the last thing on his mind. Instead, he looked as if he were trying to understand something that was just out of reach.

Owen, who had been following the conversation avidly, said, "I think Suzie was telling the truth. I think it's dark and lonely. And I, for one, am not looking forward to my trip there."

Tosh shuddered slightly, "I'm not either. And, for the record, I think Suzie was telling the truth, too."

Ianto shrugged, "I guess I'm the odd man out then. I just don't think it's unreasonable to think that there might be something else."

The Pardoner's Tale

"Right, then, it's me, is it?" said de Rouncivale impatiently. "Gentlemen, when I stand in the church and preach, I take pains to always maintain my dignity. I try always to help people to be more moral, to find salvation, to do what is right. So I will tell a tale that will instruct you all in good morality and, hopefully, help you to become better than you are.

"In Flanders, there was a group of young people who didn't care what they did. They used bad language, drank to excess, and committed many sins. They were terrible!"

He catalogued their faults for a while longer, and then began a clichéd tale about someone dying in the midst of sin. Jack shook his head dismissively, stifling a yawn.

However, his boredom was swiftly cured by a sudden argument. De Rouncivale interrupted his own tale to begin offering pardons for sale, to the consternation and even anger of many of the pilgrims. A few of the pilgrims, including Thopas, almost came to blows with the pardoner and his only defender, Court the summoner, until Sir Walter stepped in and asserted himself.

"Now, we can't have fighting and angry words while on pilgrimage. Thopas, shake hands with de Rouncivale and we will stop this nonsense."

With a resentful look, the pardoner took Thopas' proffered hand and shook it; then he dropped it as soon as possible and rode to the outskirts of the group, closely followed by Court. There they talked quietly, shooting frequent glances at the other pilgrims.

"An alehouse!" Thopas exclaimed, muttering in an aside, "I need a drink to wash out the taste of that last tale!" Raising his voice he said, "Ladies and gentlemen, I propose we stop for some refreshments and there we can hear the next tale."

Inside the inn, they all sat down for a drink. Even Allisoun was somewhat subdued and the entire group sat quietly, each person lost in his or her own thoughts.

First Ianto left the room. A while later Jack disappeared. Then Gwen left. Tosh turned to Owen, and he said, "Do what you like. I'm not getting up from this spot until I have to. I'm tired." She settled back down on the bench next to him.

Gwen walked around the inn enjoying the fresh air and saw Ianto standing at the edge of the road. Surprisingly, Jack was nowhere in sight. She walked over to Ianto and hesitantly greeted him, not sure if she was a welcome intrusion on his solitude.

"Gwen," he responded gravely with a small smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Ianto, can I ask you a question?"

He nodded his assent.

"How did you ... forgive us after Lisa?" she blurted out.

He thought for a moment. "How did you forgive me for endangering all of your lives?"

"I let the sex gas alien out on my first recovery mission," she laughed. "I'm in no position to throw stones. It's just that ... I have wondered how you were able to forgive us." She confessed, "And I've been thinking about the darkness, what happens after we die. It's unbearable to me to think of Rhys going there; it's even worse than thinking that I'll go there. So I was thinking about Lisa and about how you must've felt."

Ianto nodded.

Gwen leaned lightly against him, ignoring the way he stiffened slightly, comforted by his solid and familiar warmth in the midst of all of the surrounding strangeness. "When I first joined Torchwood, I was so intimidated by you," she confided. "I didn't know anything, and you seemed to know everything. And you seemed so quiet and confident while I felt completely out of my depth. Did it feel like that for you when you first joined ... in London?"

Ianto closed his eyes and thought back. "I was actually recruited out of university. Some of the information in my file is correct; I did drift for a while. But I was at university when I got an invitation to attend a meeting for a job search. I went and was offered the first of a series of interviews. I went through four rounds of interviews and, in the end, they offered me a position. I ended up working in research for the intelligence division."

"I knew it! You were in intelligence!" Gwen turned and looked at him accusingly.

"I was in the research division of the intelligence department. That's all. Just paperwork mostly," Ianto replied dismissively, scuffing one foot in the loose dirt of the yard. "I felt a bit out of my depth, but I also felt like I belonged. They wanted me there. I was useful."

"So when you came to Cardiff ... why didn't you tell Jack that? Or did you?" Gwen asked suspiciously.

Ianto sighed. "He already mistrusted me because I was from London; I couldn't afford to have him mistrusting me any further. And later I already had plenty to do cleaning up after you lot, and some of my skill set was helpful."

"Like hacking my computer!" she said with a laugh. "You did that, didn't you?"

"Like hacking your computer. I like doing back up for Tosh. I like what I do in Cardiff. There's a lot of variety." Ianto smiled, looking briefly at Gwen and then returning his gaze to the sky.

She wrinkled her nose. "And clean up."

He nodded. "Intelligence was mentally challenging and I liked that, but it's hard to feel good about anything I did in London after the way it all ended."

Gwen hugged him with one arm and he looked down again at her. She insisted, "So you've forgiven us."

Ianto said carefully, "I've forgiven you."

She replied, "Good." After a pause, she continued, "What was she like?"

Ianto smiled more openly. "She was the woman I wanted to marry, to spend my life with. I'm lucky that I found her. Most people don't get that, and I had it for a while."

Gwen blinked a few times, her face solemn.

Ianto continued, "Sometimes I feel a little bit like Jack. It felt like I died at Canary Wharf. And in a way I died again when Lisa died, or at least it felt like it. But I'm still here. Sometimes I wonder how he stands it."

Gwen released him and took a step back so that she had room to turn and face him fully. "Doesn't it bother you? He just left and now he's back and ... well." She blushed. "Well, he flirts with me and with everyone and yet he ... well, is he serious?"

"I don't know, Gwen. I don't even know how I feel. But he's serious enough for me. I'm too tired for some grand love affair."

She looked at him doubtfully. "Really? So you don't mind all the flirting? It's just fun?" When he didn't answer, she added, "Is it a relationship?"

"I don't know, Gwen. It took 300,000 years for light to enter the universe ... and it only happened once everything had cooled off a bit." He shrugged. "Taking things slowly gives you time to think."

"Okay, Ianto," she said with a puzzled frown. "I'll leave you alone for a while. I'm going to go check on the others." She headed back toward the inn.

Ianto looked at the road, the path forward and the path back, and wondered what he was feeling. Numbness, maybe. Riding along through the past, moving so slowly through this time period, lent a strange sense of disassociation to everything. And it was tiring. On the other hand, he couldn't deny that he felt a sense of hope. Before Jack had left, what they had had was mostly just fun. Mostly. Both of them had needed someone to get lost in, to let go with. That and someone to hold onto when things got bad. Then Jack had left without a backward glance and Ianto had known where he stood. He was good at picking up the pieces and putting himself back together ... and the loss of Jack had not been the worst loss he'd ever endured, not by a long shot.

But Jack coming back had changed things. Jack was different. There was something under the surface, something in his eyes, that seemed to be seeking a connection. And Jack had asked him out on that still-deferred date. That was perilously close to making things much more personal, potentially much more painful. He didn't know how much either of them was capable of caring and that was scary, too. This Jack looked too closely and was himself too close to the surface for comfort. Instinctively Ianto knew that to fall into Jack's orbit now would be a dangerous thing.

Ianto took a deep breath, the distant air of a dead time filling his lungs. If he hadn't already fallen. If he hadn't already confused duty and loyalty and a sense of purpose with something more. He went back inside, into the light and companionship of the inn.

From his place amidst the poplars, Jack watched him go.

The Shipman's Tale

After a break, the pilgrims spilled out of the inn, talking quietly. They remounted their horses. Jack swung up into the saddle, comforted by the solid feel of the responsive creature beneath him. With Sir Walter leading the way, the pilgrims rode out onto the road, falling into their customary groups. They rode in silence for a while until Thopas signaled that it was time to resume the storytelling.

The shipman said with a sly look, "Well, I have a tale about a merchant and a monk."

"Not that old chestnut," groaned the miller.

"No, no!" the shipman protested. "This is a new tale. I heard it for the first time just the other day and the teller swore to me that it was true. There was a merchant who lived in France, at St. Denis, and he had a beautiful wife, but he always kept her short of cash."

"Typical," snorted Alisoun with a hard look round at the men. "Why men should hold the purse strings I --."

The shipman cut her off. "Anyway, the merchant met this monk at an inn and they started talking."

The shipman continued with his tale, casting aspersions on all three characters. When he reached the point in the story where the monk used his loan from the merchant to pay for sex with his wife, Gwen turned to Jack with an exaggerated expression of open-mouthed horror. Jack stifled a laugh at her expression, thinking that surely a police officer must have seen the worst humanity was capable of.

"That's awful!" she whispered. "What kind of marriage is that?" Jack shrugged in response.

Owen, however, said, "I had no idea that people have always been this bad. I thought it was just us."

"Some people," stressed Tosh. Gwen nodded.

Thopas asked, "Who would like to go next?"

The Weaver's Tale

Gwen started hesitantly, "I have a tale of love, and it's a bit more romantic than the last one."

Alisoun sighed in ecstasy, "Of course you do, dear boy. Young men always think of love and romance."

Gwen continued, "There was a woman who could not choose. She wanted everything, couldn't be satisfied with letting go of possibilities. She lived in a little village in the middle of nowhere and there really wasn't anything special about her on the outside, at least no one had ever thought there was. As a child she had been less pretty, less clever, less skilled than all of the other girls, and nothing changed once she was grown up. But she had no reason to feel sorry for herself, or at least that's what her parents often told her.

"As a young woman, she got betrothed to a man she had known for a long time, an honest, hardworking man, and she did love him in a quiet way. Her parents approved of the match, relieved that she had finally made a decision they agreed with. Her friends liked him. And he adored her, with all of her faults, told her she was special and beautiful and desirable. But she wasn't completely happy. She was willing to risk all of this ... because she loved another as well.

"She had been sent on an errand to a neighboring village by her father. It wasn't a very long walk, but she was taking her time because she wasn't especially interested in getting home in time to do chores. Sometimes it seemed that her mum was trying to squeeze every drop of work from her before she was married off. Anyway, she was walking along when she suddenly heard the sound of oncoming hoofbeats."

"A highwayman!" interjected the youngest nun excitedly, clutching at her robe.

Gwen nodded, "She immediately looked around for a weapon, something she could use to defend herself. She spotted a tree branch on the ground at the edge of the wood and reached down to grab it. As she did, she felt the wind of the horse's passing and looked up to see the horseman wheeling back toward her. Her heart leapt into her throat, but she grasped the branch firmly. Just as the highwayman reached the spot where she was standing, a man in a long cloak came dashing out of the trees.

"'Leave her alone!' he cried. The highwayman laughed and drove his horse at the man, forcing him aside. However, when he did this he turned his back on the young woman and she struck out with her tree limb. Cursing, he turned toward her angrily and she shrank back, afraid of what he was going to do to her.

"The highwayman swung down from his horse and strode forward and she looked around to see if she could find another weapon. Suddenly, the man fell to his knees and then fell forward on his face. Behind him stood the man in the cloak, her tree limb in his grasp.

"'Well,' he said. 'I've never set out to rescue a fair maiden only to have her do half the work.' He bowed to her, dropping the limb.

"She laughed. 'I guess not,' she said.

"'So where are you off to on this dangerous road?' he asked in a flirtatious tone.

"She replied that she was going home, that she had a lot of work to do to get ready for her wedding. He gave her a conspiratorial look and asked, 'Wouldn't you rather come with me?'

"She actually thought about it for a moment, wondered what it would be like to go adventuring with this stranger. She could marry him and they could travel the world. And then she thought about the man she was betrothed to, her family, her responsibilities. And she said no.

"So he escorted her home, leaving her without a backward glance at the edge of the village. And she watched him until he was out of sight. Part of her knew that if he had turned around one more time or given any further sign that he wanted her to follow him, she would've gone. She would've walked away from her old life into a new life she could barely imagine. But he didn't. So she learned to be satisfied and even happy with her old life, although she thought about the man frequently.

"Part of her wondered if she didn't so much love this mystery man as want to be him. She wanted adventure and excitement and to inspire love and passion. She wanted to lead and to have people look to her for guidance. She wanted to be special and different and important, someone who could change the world, not just a girl from a little town who was going to be born and die in the same town and ultimately be forgotten. He was everything she wanted to be."

She paused, riding in silence for a moment. "But that isn't how the world works. We can't be who we aren't. And we have to choose and then move on. Eventually, all possibilities narrow down into a single option, and that's what we have to work with. She accepted who she was meant to be, and she married her fiancé and loved him and grew old with him and finally died. In between she did manage to do some good in the world and at least one person remembered her after she was gone." She glanced over at Jack and discovered that he and Ianto were looking at each other, both men seemingly oblivious to the others and to her story. She felt a surge of irritation that she quickly tamped down.

Alisoun remarked thoughtfully, "It's not really my kind of story. Not enough sex. But it's refreshing for you to have a woman as your main character."

The pilgrims rode in pensive silence until they reached the inn in Rochester where they would spend the night. In the main room of the inn, there was a long table flanked by rough-hewn benches. Once the horses were attended to, most of the pilgrims sat down immediately to eat, although a few went for a quick wash.

Gwen and Tosh sat at the long table and surveyed their plates doubtfully. Gwen took a tentative bite and Tosh looked at her.

"I was thinking about your story, Gwen. Do you think of marriage as a natural corollary of love?" Tosh queried, looking at Gwen. "Or did you just put that in because people in this time period would expect someone to get married?"

She said, "I do think it's part of real love, of a mature love affair, that commitment between people." She looked around. "It's the culmination of love. A way to preserve it."

Tosh said thoughtfully, "I don't know though. The marriage vow isn't the only vow there is." She sat with one elbow on the table, her cheek cupped in her palm.

"Then what is there, Tosh? Being alone?" Gwen asked. "Is that what you think we should expect - to be alone like that? Because I wouldn't want to live like that." As she spoke, Ianto and Owen came and sat down across from them. Jack was nowhere in sight. "I don't want to go home to an empty flat at the end of the day, have an empty life outside of work." She rubbed her eyes wearily.

"I don't know," said Tosh, a trifle defensively. "You don't have to be married to someone to be sure of them. And anyway, being alone isn't that bad. I don't need another person to make me whole." Owen nodded his head but didn't say anything.

"Are you saying I do?" Gwen asked with a slight edge to her voice.

"No. I was just curious about your story. That's all," Tosh replied somewhat stiffly. "I'm not making judgments about how other people live their lives," she added in a pointed tone.

Frustrated Gwen turned away from the burgeoning argument and asked, "What do you want, Owen? Marriage?"

Owen ignored her question, so she looked at Ianto and asked, "What about you? Do you want to be married?"

"What?" he raised an eyebrow. "I thought you were already engaged to Rhys. I don't think he's that open minded."

Owen laughed and Tosh smiled, her features relaxing. Tosh said, "He is cute, Ianto. You could do worse."

Owen exclaimed in mock amazement, "Toshiko!"

"'You know what I mean," Gwen continued dismissively, ignoring their laughter. "You said were planning to be married … before."

Feeling Ianto shift on the bench next to him, Owen cut in hurriedly, "Just because you're planning a wedding --."

Gwen said dismissively, "I know your opinion, Owen." Then she looked at Ianto again, "Would you want to be married now, Ianto, or are you happy being alone?"

Ianto said lightly, "Surely those aren't my only choices?"

"Give it a rest, Gwen," Owen said. "Not everyone wants what you want."

"You know Jack doesn't do marriage," Gwen added in a tone that was more puzzled than malicious.

Tosh sucked in a long breath, looking worriedly at them all in turn.

"Why would I want to marry Jack?" Ianto asked evenly, tearing his bread into strips with steady fingers.

"Well … if, I guess, you love him," she temporized, "then --."

"That's a separate issue," Ianto replied calmly. "And no one's business but my own."

Gwen shook her head decisively and forged ahead, "No, they go together. Everything else is temporary. Marriage is a commitment. It binds us together. It's security."

Owen said, "I hate to tell you this, love, but everything is temporary. Look around you." He gestured tiredly at the other pilgrims who were laughing and talking. "There's your proof that nothing lasts forever."

Gwen ignored Owen and continued, "But I don't understand. What's the difference between wanting to marry Lisa and wanting to marry someone else, like Jack?"

Irritated now, Ianto replied, "Lisa and I were different to Jack and I."

"But that's the natural progression of a relationship," Gwen protested, sounding confused. "You're attracted, you get to know each other, date, move in, and then get married, have a family. That's what happens."

"For some people, that's what happens." Ianto took a long draught of ale.

"So then what are you looking for?" Gwen replied.

Tosh intervened, "Gwen, you two are never going to agree on this. Can you just leave it?"

Ianto seemed determined to ignore her but, as Gwen continued to look at him expectantly, he finally met her eyes and asked, "What does it matter to you?"

"I just don't want you to be hurt again, Ianto," Gwen responded.

Ianto gave a palpably false smile. "I'm fine, Gwen. Everything is fine."

However, Gwen insisted, verbally pushing back against the wall he was presenting, "But --."

"Gwen, I'm fine. We don't all want the same things from relationships. You want a lifetime commitment and 'til death do us part. So you and Rhys are getting married. If I wanted that, then that's what I would look for. Or are you implying that I couldn't go out and find myself a nice steady man or woman who could give me that?"

"No."

"Exactly. If I wanted that, I would go out and find it."

"So then … what do you want?"

"I want what I've already got." He smiled, a little more genuinely this time, and shrugged, "Maybe a little more. Although if you don't desire more than what you've already got, then you're always happy."

Owen snorted and muttered, "Emo." He got up to go get another mug of ale.

Tosh interjected, "Or zen."

Ianto said, "Or realistic. I'm tired of being disappointed by life. I've decided that I don't want my reach to exceed my grasp."

Gwen said decisively, "Well, I think Jack owes you more. He needs to make a commitment."

"Gwen, I'm happy. Please leave it." He got up, rested a hand on Tosh's shoulder for a moment, and said, "I'm going to get some air." He left the inn, disappearing into the gathering darkness outside.

"He's not happy," Gwen said decisively.

"Well of course he isn't, with you haranguing him about his personal life," Tosh said angrily. "It's none of our business."

Frowning, Gwen said, as if Tosh hadn't spoken, "I just don't understand."

Owen, returning with his mug, took Ianto's spot, followed closely by Alisoun who settled in where he had been sitting. "Nice going. What did you say?"

"Nothing," Gwen said shortly. "Just put my foot in it again."

Shrugging, Owen started to eat.

"What an interesting expression: 'put my foot in it'," said Alisoun. "I like that. Is it something you say in Wales? What does it mean?"

"Oh my god," breathed Gwen with irritation, listlessly poking at the food on her plate. "What is this?"

Owen replied, pausing between bites, "Something other than fucking bread, that's what it is."

Alisoun leaned over, "That is cabochis," she said pointing helpfully, "and that is spynoches yfryed. It's very good; you should try it." She took a draught of ale. "And he's right - it is something different."

Owen laughed, and Alisoun joined him.


	12. Chapter 12

The next morning on the road, the pilgrims were quiet for a while, each lost in his or her own thoughts. Finally, Thopas said, "Well, friends, shall we have a tale? Who can start us off?"

The Prioress' Tale

The prioress, who was generally quite fierce in defense of the morals of the clergy, spoke in a surprisingly meek and affected tone, saying, "I have a little tale that may be instructive. I know I am just a woman and have a very weak mind compared to some of you men, but perhaps I can entertain and even educate with my delicate little story." Tosh grimaced at the coy, self-deprecating speech, even as some of the men preened and smiled.

"Excellent, Madam!" exclaimed the nun's priest loudly, speaking over Alisoun's murmured protest. "It will be nice to hear something pleasant."

Madam Eglantyne began her story.

Tosh remembered the nun's priest's innocent words as the prioress' tale droned on. She thought she had never heard such an immoral and bigoted tale in her life. Drawing her horse near to Ianto's, she asked, "Did they really believe these things?"

Ianto gave her a long suffering look and replied, "Unfortunately, among most Christians of this period anti-Semitism was the rule rather than the exception."

"Her story ... it's vile, and all the while she keeps saying that she's so delicate, like all this hatred is normal. How can people listen to this?" She shivered. "Don't they understand what it can lead to?"

"I don't know," Ianto replied. "I've never understood it."

Tosh bit her lip, "I feel as if … with some of these stories I can see inside people's heads, what their secret feelings are. I feel dirty now."

As the prioress' tale drew to a close, Thopas cast about to see who was ready to speak. When he caught Owen's eye, Owen shrugged and nodded.

The Dyer's Tale

"Yeah, I have a tale," Owen said. "There was this guy ... a real prince. Prince Owen. And he had it all. A loving family, devoted wife, wonderful friends, great house, lots of money, enormous tracts of land. He had it all. The only thing he wanted that he didn't have was his freedom.  
"This prince, he was tired of all of the responsibilities. And he felt guilty for not being happy because anyone else in this situation would be happy. He should've been happy. But he wasn't.

"He'd go out riding every day, each day going further and further but never having the guts to just leave. One day he was out riding in the forest and he met this incredibly gorgeous woman. She had long brown hair and a beautiful smile. She was sitting on a fallen tree and she was laughing. Not in a crazy way, but like she was really happy with her life.

"He rode up to her and asked, 'What are you laughing at?'

"She replied, 'I'm laughing because life is ridiculous and funny. And I'm laughing at you because you are afraid to reach for what you want.'  
"'Ah, correction,' he said. 'I'm doing the right thing, the responsible thing.'

"'I'm sure that will be a great comfort to you when it's all done. You'll know that you spent your lifetime making other people happy and denying what you want.'

"'Well then, what should I do?' he asked, jumping down from his horse.

"She looked at him with intense eyes and said shortly, 'Take what you want.' Then she vanished. Prince Owen stood around in the forest for a while like an idiot, trying to decide what to do. Then he got on his horse and went back home.

"The prince became a king, grew old in his beautiful home with his family and his loving wife and finally he died. After he was gone, he was remembered for a short while as a faithful and responsible ruler and father, but soon he was forgotten. The end."

"How can that be the end?" protested Sir Walter, visibly disturbed by Owen's flippancy and by the story. "He did his duty. What could be more important or rewarding than that?" The knight looked at Owen in confusion.

"He did his duty, alright," Owen shrugged. "And he was forgotten in the end anyway. He could've done what he wanted with his life and had the same result in the end."

"But he made others happy," said Gwen. "Surely that has to count for something."

Owen rolled his eyes, "Look, I'm not going to argue with you about a story I made up just to pass the time. But I don't see why his happiness was any less important than anybody else's. And none of it matters anyway. No matter what we do, it all ends up the same."

There was a brief silence, and then Ianto said, "What about that song?"

"What song?" Owen turned to him incredulously, ready to take offense. "What are you on about?"

"That song you were singing the other day. 'I've been searching low and high. I won't get to get what I'm after till the day I die, I'm a seeker.' That doesn't sound like someone who believes that nothing matters."

"That's just a song, Ifan," Owen said uncertainly. He gestured toward the fields and the thick woods with an open palm. "There's nothing but this."

Nun's Priest's Tale

"Now, friend! That is a harsh lesson," rejoined Sir John, the nun's priest, as once more his horse stumbled on the road and he clung on even more tightly. "I believe that there is good in life as well, or else why would anyone bother?"

He launched into a surprisingly entertaining tale about a rooster named Chauntecleer, a story that made the time pass pleasantly and kept everyone laughing and relaxed. When he wound up his story with a lesson that wouldn't have seemed out of place back at Torchwood, to keep your eyes open and your mouth shut, Tosh felt emboldened to speak.

The Tapestry Maker's Tale

Tosh cleared her throat softly and said, "I agree with you, sir. There comes a point when you have to let the past go."

Thopas said with lively interest, "Well, quiet Thomas Sayer, do you have a tale on that theme for us as well?'

Tosh thought for a moment, composing herself, and then nodded. "I do have a tale. It's the story of a second chance.

"There was a falcon, a fierce bird that was accustomed to hunting alone. She loved the sky, loved to drift on the currents and drop like death from the clouds. She loved freedom, flying, hunting.

"One day, as she flew over the rooftops, she looked down and saw a falcon like herself, only this bird was in a cage. He was dashing his body against the metal bars of his prison. She flew lower so as to see better, and, spotting her, the falcon called to her. He said, 'Friend! Please help me! Help me to escape from this prison!'

"Warily, she circled the cage. She said, 'Perhaps there is a good reason you are there in prison. Why should I trust you?'

"The falcon cocked his head and said, 'I am imprisoned because I was foolish. I went into the market hunting for pigeons, and I was captured. I should never have gone there.' He stepped back from the bars wearily. 'And now I am here, stuck in this cage for the rest of my life. I will never feel the wind over my feathers again.'

"She looked at him, trying to imagine what it would be like never to fly again, never to be free to go where she willed, to soar and climb, to crouch behind metal bars until death took her. She made her decision. 'I'll help you. What can I do?'

"The male falcon thought for a moment and then said, 'The man who has imprisoned me here opens the door to feed me every evening. When he comes, you should fly down and surprise him. He's quite a coward and will run away and I'll be able to escape.' They agreed to this plan and the first falcon found a place up under the thatch where she could hide and yet still see the cage.

"As the darkness began to fall, a short pale man with heavy black hair came into the yard carrying a dead rabbit and a small gold key. He approached the cage, saying, 'Here, now. I've brought you a good dinner, my friend.' The falcon in the cage gripped his perch with excitement. As the man swung open the door of the cage the female falcon dove toward him. The falcon inside suddenly shrieked, 'Catch her! Catch her!' The man flung his arms up trying to grab her but somehow she evaded him and left him cursing in the yard.

"Fuming, she flew away swearing to leave the falcon in his cage. However, she didn't fly far. When she judged enough time had passed so that the man would be gone, she flew back and alighted near the cage. She asked, 'Why? Why did you betray me?'

"The male falcon replied, 'He wants a breeding pair. I was just serving my master.'

"'But you could've been free.'

"The falcon looked at her with hopeless eyes. 'Free? I don't even remember what that feels like.

"She looked at him, at his despair and his inability to see the beyond the narrowness of his life, and made a decision. Without a word she took off, flying low around the corner of the house until she came to a window. She peered inside and spied the key hanging from a nail in the wall. Steadying her nerves, she crept into the window and then flung herself forward to snatch the key. Her wings beating strongly, she rushed back to the cage and opened the door.

"'There,' she announced. 'You're free. Fly away.'

"The falcon looked at her fearfully and said, 'Should I go with you?'

"'No, she replied, 'I released you, but you don't belong to me. You're free. Go!' And with that she sprang into the night air, back into the sky she loved."

When she concluded her tale, many of the pilgrims murmured their compliments. Tosh blushed a little and looked down. Alisoun, however, averred, "You should be proud of your tale, young man. I can't tell you how impressed I am by you Welshmen and your tales about women. The men around here could learn a thing or two from you!"

Jack chuckled and Alisoun rounded on him, "Oh! I recall your tale well, John Hardy! You know how to respect a woman and treat her right, of that I'm sure."

Ianto rolled his eyes as Jack shot him a triumphant look. "You see? My fame precedes me." He nodded to Alisoun gallantly "Thank you very much, my lady. I do try to please." He smirked at Ianto, "And I never get any complaints."

Alisoun replied knowingly, "I'll bet you do please. 'Somewhat of lust, somewhat of love,' that kind of thing?"

Jack raised an eyebrow in inquiry, a half smile on his face, and Ianto supplied, "John Gower."

Thopas sighed, "That hack."

Ianto said seriously, "I don't know. I've always liked his definition of love. Bright darkness and bitter honey. That sums it up quite well."

The youngest nun sighed dramatically and added, "Further from you than Earth to heaven."

Alisoun looked at her sardonically and said, "Hmph. I suppose. All that's fine, but there's no substitute for a little fun in bed." Jack laughed and she smiled at him.

Madam Eglantyne interrupted. "I think perhaps your conversation should be reserved for holier topics, sister."

Second Nun's Tale

"I can tell you the tale of the suffering of Saint Cecile and the bliss of holy martyrdom," offered the second nun eagerly, looking down and blushing a bit.

"Let's have it, then!" exclaimed the summoner. "I for one am tired of this mania for stories about birds."

The young nun cheerfully launched into a prolonged and lovingly detailed description of torture, martyrdom, and beheading. Even Owen looked a bit pale at the story, although most of the pilgrims' reactions ranged from polite interest to indifference. Jack tried to shut out the nun's piping voice, but the horses' hooves drumming on the road and the visceral terror that still overtook him when he let himself think back over the events of the last year soon caught up to him, washing over him in an inexorable, dizzying tide. He was suddenly unable to breath, drowning in loneliness and fear.

He must have made a sound, because Ianto, attuned to him as always, looked over at him sharply and saw that he was listing to the side, riding with loose hands. Ianto abruptly pulled his horse's head and cut across to ride next to Jack, reaching over to grasp the reins of Jack's horse. "Jack," he urged softly, "what's wrong?"

"I'm fine," Jack mumbled, staring straight ahead blindly. "Too much sun."

"Stop lying to me, Jack. Do me that courtesy, at least," Ianto replied acidly. "What is it? Let me help you."

Jack shuddered. "I'm ... I'm ..." he trailed off helplessly. "I can't tell you."

"Jack, listen to me. Whatever it is ... or isn't ... you're here with me and with the others. We're on our way home." Ianto continued, his voice rough and worried, "I can't hold you now, but as soon as I'm able .... if it would help --."

Jack looked at him then, breathing heavily, his fists now clenched and knotted. "Ianto, I died. You died. We all died. It ... it was ... every time I died there was some new ... and then when I came back ... I was still wrong. He couldn't save me from this." His voice broke on his anguish and he took a deep breath. "It never ends, Ianto. It never ends." Jack laughed sharply, a bitter and ugly sound, "We all fall down and then I get back up and we all fall down and I get back up." He stopped, shuddering again. "He laughed every time," he continued. "Every time. And I kept falling down. Do you know what it feels like to look down and see parts of yourself lying there on a slick metal floor?" He laughed harshly, breathing through gritted teeth. "Of course you don't. I'm the only one who lives to tell it." He looked at Ianto, fear evident in his eyes, "And we don't even know if you were exposed to the plague. We don't even know --," his voice broke and he stopped.

Ianto ran a hand over his head in distress, dislodging his cap and ruffling his hair. "Jack, I can't help what's happened, just like I can't help whatever will happen in the future. But we're here now at this spot on the road and that has to count for something, right?"

Jack nodded tightly, his eyes still wide and panicked.

"Okay, then," Ianto said soothingly, shielding Jack from the view of the others with his body. "So focus on that. We're here. The world is new. The road is under our feet. And we're on our way home."

Jack nodded again. Ianto said softly, "Do you know that the Milky Way is said to be the route that pilgrims take after death? And when you see a shooting star, it's supposed to be a pilgrim who has slipped from the path." He smiled at Jack, who was watching him closely. "I like that image. I've slipped off the path so many times, it's comforting to think of being a shooting star rather than just an idiot with incredibly bad judgment." He laughed softly. "My fuck ups leave blazing trails in the universe."

Jack's lips twitched and he gave Ianto a strained smile. Gradually Jack calmed himself until he was able to take back the reins.

Nonetheless, Ianto stayed close, interposing himself between Jack and the others and keeping a careful eye on him.

As the second nun finished her tale, there was a stir among some of the pilgrims. To their left there was a small village crowded against the road and hemmed in by tall ferns and vine-wrapped trees.

"Ah, Boghton under Blee! We will be in Canterbury before nightfall," the parson exclaimed with satisfaction, stroking his horse's neck encouragingly. "We're almost to our destination."

Parson's Tale

"In that case, sir, if you would please bless us with a final tale," Thopas said, "that would round out the first half of our journey together."

"I would be delighted," replied the parson. He took a deep breath and began.

"This is not a story," griped Owen after the parson had spoken for ten minutes or so. "This is a fucking sermon."

"Well, we are on a pilgrimage to a holy site," replied Gwen. "I guess it makes sense to have a prayer here at the end."

"I don't care. If I wanted to hear a sermon, I'd be in a church. Anyway, most of these stories are crap. I can't believe anyone bothered to write them down," Owen grumbled.

"If it makes you feel any better, I think we're almost there," Ianto remarked.

"Now how do you know that?"

"The parson's tale finishes it off." He shrugged. "We should be there soon."

"And then we find the time slip and go home," Jack said confidently.


	13. Chapter 13

"Well," said the de Rouncivale, rubbing his hands together briskly. "I see that we are finally here! I thank you all for your company and wish you well. I will, like as not, not be joining you for the return journey after all." He nodded, then spurred his horse and trotted off toward a nearby alehouse followed by Court.

Madame Eglantyne said imperiously, "We, however, will meet here at the appointed time." Then she, the nuns, and Huberd and the monks rode on toward the cathedral. Robyn the miller gave a sharp laugh and said, " Alisoun, let's go too and pray for our wicked souls!"  
Alisoun smiled and said, "I hope to see you all on the return journey."

Soon, the only people left were Sir Thopas and the team. Thopas looked at Jack and said, "Now that we are alone and near the place sanctified by the martyrdom of St Thomas á Becket, shall we be a bit more honest with each other? It is plain to me that you five are from much further away than Wales."

Ianto reined in his horse and said, "What makes you say that?"

To the company in general, Thopas said, "Allow me to introduce myself properly. I'm Geoffrey Chaucer." He then focused on Ianto, adding, "I think that you at least have heard of me. And you in turn, Ifan, have puzzled me for this entire journey. I cannot think how you moved so swiftly from using our English as if it were a foreign language to speaking as smoothly as anyone else."

Ianto blushed, "I'm a quick study."

"Indeed. Very quick. But I think, John Hardy," Chaucer said, turning to regard Jack, "that you are the leader of this group of men ... and ladies. So again, I think you have the advantage of me?"

Jack laughed. "Jack Harkness. And this is Ianto Jones, Owen Harper, Gwen Cooper, and Toshiko Sato. We've come from very far away in search of the phenomenon which is manifesting here at Canterbury in the cathedral. It's a ... a doorway. And it's the only doorway that will take us back home."

"Unless you're telling me that your home is paradise, am I to understand that it isn't a divine light that carries one to heaven?" Chaucer asked curiously.

Jack shook his head, "I'm afraid not."

Chaucer shrugged. "I thought as much. And can you tell me more?"

"No, I'm sorry. I can't."

Chaucer looked at him for a moment, searching his face for some sign. Evidently satisfied, he replied, "You know that only certain people have been allowed to approach this phenomenon?"

"We've gotten this far," Gwen put in. Chaucer nodded at her courteously and then turned back to Ianto.

"So, Ianto, Jack says you are from a distant land ... but you knew me. If I am not mistaken, you knew me from the moment you met me. How is it that my face is known in this distant land?"

"Not so much your face as your words," Ianto replied. "And I can't tell you anything else about that. I'm sorry."

Chaucer smiled at that. "No matter." His horse stirred restlessly and he said, "Do you have a plan?"

Gwen looked at Jack uncertainly. Jack, however, smiled broadly and said, "Of course we do."

Ianto added, "We won't be able to put it into effect until nightfall. Perhaps we should find some place to rest until then." Jack shot him a quick look and then nodded.

Smoothly, Chaucer said, "I propose that we stable the horses and get something to eat. That will give you time to refine your plan." He smiled. "I know a place, if you'll allow yourself to be guided by me."

"Lead on." Jack gestured for Chaucer to proceed them, and the others fell in behind Jack.

As they rode through the town, Ianto was struck anew by the unfamiliarity of this time. Riding through a medieval city was a far cry from riding along a country road or stopping at a village inn. The streets were crowded with pilgrims in big floppy hats festooned with scallop shells, vendors selling badges and feathers and vials of holy water, a well-dressed man riding through the press with a falcon sitting on his shoulder, members of the clergy walking together in conversation, a woman carrying herbs in a basket, children running and laughing, dogs, horses, goats. At one point, the crush of people prevented their horses from moving forward and they clustered together, waiting for an opening.

Looking around in amazement, Tosh quoted, "If this is the best of all possible worlds, what are the others like?"

Chaucer responded as if she had spoken to him, raising his voice to be heard over the din, "I don't know that this is the best of all possible worlds. But I'm curious about the idea that there might be other worlds to compare it to."

Tosh laughed nervously, "I'm just amazed at all the activity."

"It is true that the world is just a poor shadow of the divine. Maybe it was a vera icon once, but it certainly isn't any more."

Gwen asked curiously, "A vera icon?"

"True icon, an accurate copy." Chaucer gestured expansively. "Every time a manuscript is copied, it changes a little bit until finally you have something very different from the original. All of these people are descended from Adam and Eve who were themselves human copies of the divine. But look at us and look at what we've made. Even in a city like Canterbury, how many of these people spend time thinking about more than their day to day concerns, do you suppose? We get caught up in the little things, the things that prevent us from trying to figure out what it's all about." He smiled. "Now, I'm not a member of the clergy and I don't pretend to be a theologian or a great thinker, but I do believe that we have a higher purpose, something we are meant to do." There was a break in the crowd and he urged his horse forward. Gwen rode next to him.

"Like protect the Earth?" Gwen's expression was sympathetic.

Behind Gwen, Jack winced and glanced at Ianto who shook his head slightly.

Chaucer looked at Gwen oddly, "Well, that's an interesting way of putting it, but sort of. Protecting people, surely. Making humanity as good as it can be here on Earth."

Pulling his horse's head to the left to avoid a woman who was bustling along the street with a large bundle on her back, Ianto asked, "What's the point of making things better when everyone dies in the end?"

Nodding his head, Chaucer said, "A fair question. I know that some people say that good works help one to get into heaven. Others say faith. Some say both. Regardless, it seems that a little happiness now is worth the effort, no matter what comes after. And death can be cheated if we can be remembered. Of course, if we rise again then we cheat death also."

"What about those of us who aren't going to rise again?" asked Ianto idly, toying with the reins and looking down.

"Well, then, you must endeavor not to be forgotten," Chaucer said absently, looking around. "We're here." He dismounted. "A place to rest for a while."

They were in a small yard that was flanked on three sides by buildings, an L-shaped building that was evidently some kind of house and a small stable on the other side. Owen sighed and said, sliding down from his mount, "Come on, Ianto. Let's put up the horses."

Ianto nodded his assent, and Gwen added, "I'll help."

Chaucer, Jack, and Tosh went into the house as the others took care of their horses.

Owen remarked, leading the way, "I can't wait to get back home. When I do, I'm never going near another horse again."

Nodding, Gwen said, "I'm going to be so happy to see the SUV." She sighed, "Air conditioning." She began stripping the riding gear from Tosh's horse.

Ianto added, "Hot showers." He grabbed a bucket and stepped outside the door to scoop water from the barrel in the yard.

Laughing Owen took up the challenge. "Decent food." He quickly and efficiently secured Jack's horse and turned to his own, resting his hand for a moment on its wide nose. "Beer."

Ianto swung the stall door closed on his horse, leaned against it, and said resolutely, "Indoor plumbing."

"It's the little things, right Ianto?" Gwen laughed. Then she sobered, her expression becoming serious, "Rhys. I miss Rhys and I can't wait to see him again."

Ianto and Owen both looked at her. Then Owen offered, "We'll be back home by morning."

Soberly they walked across the yard toward the other building.

 

"So," Jack said, leaning back against the wall. "You know a way into the cathedral where we won't be observed?" The bench creaked under him as he shifted his weight.

"I don't," Chaucer replied mildly. "But I have a friend who will."

Jack frowned, craning his head to look directly at the other man, "I don't want a lot of people knowing about this. How do I know we can trust your friend?"

Chaucer set a plate of bread and cheese on the table and gestured for them to help themselves. "You don't have a choice. All my friend will know is that a group of pilgrims is desperate to see the inside of the cathedral."

"And when we disappear?" Jack challenged, tearing off a chunk of bread.

Chaucer sat down, "My friend will think you went out by the front door."

Ianto asked, "Where are we? This isn't an inn, is it?"

Chaucer said, smiling, "It's just a house. It belongs to my sister Katherine. She used to use it on occasion, but since her marriage she hasn't needed it. There's a servant who lives here, paid for by her husband. He keeps it tidy and supplied." He nodded at Jack, "And he's also very good at keeping secrets."

Gwen turned to Jack, "So what do we do until tonight? Can we go out and look around?"

Jack frowned at her, "Really? Do you really want to take the risk?"

"What's the point of traveling if you don't get to look at the scenery?" she said. "Besides, we'll just be gone for a little while."

Jack raised an eyebrow. "We?"

"Well, anyone who wants to come with." She flashed him a cheeky grin. "Do you want to go exploring?"

"No," he replied shortly.

"Ianto?"

"I'll stay here with Jack, thanks."

"Owen? Tosh?" Gwen entreated them. Chaucer chuckled and rose.

"I'm going to check on the horses and then track down my friend. I'll see you here a little before dusk," he said. He took up his cloak and hat and went outside. Through the doorway, they could see him walking toward the stable.

Owen sighed, "Alright. But just for a bit. And I'm not going far. Tosh, you either have to come with us, or else loan us the translator."

Tosh got up and stretched, "I'm in. I'll go with you. My legs could do with a stretch." Gwen and Owen got up as well and the three started toward the door.

"Hey!" Jack called. They turned and looked at him. "Just be careful. And don't be gone long." Gwen threw him a smile and they left.

Ianto sat quietly, watching Jack watch their progress across the yard. Jack continued to stare out the doorway after they had disappeared from view. Ianto looked down at the table and then back up at Jack. He cleared his throat hesitantly, "Jack?"

"So," Jack said brightly, "who ends up winning this contest?"

Ianto looked at him blankly, "Contest?"

"The storytelling contest. Who wins? Since we won't be taking the return trip."

"This is how it ends," Ianto replied, holding his cup loosely. "Chaucer never finished the story. We never find out what happens on the return trip."

"Oh. That's not very satisfying. Why didn't he finish it?" Jack asked, his tone growing darker and less playful.

"I don't know."

Jack said petulantly, frowning down at the table, "I thought you knew everything."

"I don't know this. This is all we get."

"I don't like unfinished stories," Jack said quietly. "I want to know what happens in the end."

Ianto shrugged, "Well, we're here. I guess we could ask him how he plans to end it."

"No," Jack shook his head. "If you're right, he doesn't even know what form the story is going to take yet. It's too dangerous. We can't suggest anything that might change history."

Ianto smiled, looking at Jack fondly, "We're changing history just by being here. Besides, how do we know what really happened? Chaucer might've made things up, he might've forgotten the real stories, some copyist might've changed the ending." He added, "It's hard to remember stories accurately, even stories about people who are real. We remember the parts we want to remember, even if they didn't really happen."

Jack looked at him wordlessly.

"I remember my gran, but I was pretty young when she died. So the things I remember about her aren't all accurate. I think I remember her, but maybe I just remember stories people told about her, a few images, things I made up. And that was only, what, 18 years ago. We forget, even important stuff that we swear never to forget."

Jack said softly, "Does that bother you?" He set his hands on the rough wood of the table, as if bracing to hear the answer Ianto would give him.

Ianto replied, "I've gotten used to the idea."

"Really?" Jack swallowed.

Ianto covered his hand briefly with his own. "It's okay, Jack."

Jack swallowed again and said, looking into Ianto's eyes with great intensity, "How did you know I didn't actually have a plan?"

The corner of Ianto's mouth twitched and then he gave into the desire to laugh.


	14. Chapter 14

Ianto woke up suddenly, sat up and stretched his stiff back. When Chaucer had offered him a bed for a nap he had somehow assumed it would have a few more amenities. Like a decent mattress. However, he felt a bit more rested and ready to face the evening. He stretched again and rose to go find Jack and the others. Looking around, he tried to remember the path back to the main hall. He had a vague memory of walking through several connecting rooms but no clear mental map of the direct route. Sighing he set off.

In the close darkness of the third room he entered he heard a shuffling sound and then Tosh's surprised exclamation. "Ianto?"

He peered down at her, letting his eyes adjust to the dimness. "Why are you sitting here in the dark? Were you trying to sleep?" he asked apologetically.

"No," Tosh's voice trailed off. Then she added a little petulantly, "It isn't fair."

"What isn't?" Ianto eased himself down next to her.

"Everything," she replied with uncharacteristic shortness, avoiding his gaze.

Ianto squinted into the distance and nodded, his forearms loosely balanced on his knees. "I agree. It isn't fair."

"Don't patronize me," she snapped.

"I'm not," he said with mild confusion. "Just because I don't know what you're referring to doesn't mean I can't empathize. Almost everything is unfair."

Tosh looked at him through the dark fringe of her hair, her cap pushed back on her head, and said, "It would be Saturday, right?" He nodded. "I was supposed to go on a date tonight."

"Really?"

"You needn't say it like that." Her tone was sharp.

"I didn't mean anything … it's just …" he fumbled.

"Thought I was going to continue wanting someone who didn't want me?" She raised her chin and brushed her hair back defiantly.

"Well … yes," Ianto replied cautiously, and Tosh couldn't stifle a small smile. Then he asked, "So … who is it?"

"What you're really asking is man or woman, aren't you?" She touched his hand lightly. "That's what seems to happen at Torchwood Cardiff."

Ianto laughed.

Tosh said, "Perhaps I shouldn't tell you. I can keep an air of mystery that way." Then she said soberly, "The thing is … I was really hoping … she's really nice and I don't want to stand her up." She sighed. "I wanted something for myself … like Gwen has. A piece of my life that isn't about Torchwood and all of you." She idly drew with her finger in the dust.

"How did you meet her?"

Tosh blushed slightly. "I met her at a lecture on temporal physics." She looked at him, "But she's really funny!"

Ianto leaned lightly against her and said conspiratorially, "Tosh, you and I both know smart is sexy."

"I know … anyway, it doesn't matter because once again Torchwood has taken priority over anything else I try to do in my life."

"Don't give up, Tosh."

"I don't need anyone, I guess. I know I'm a complete person on my own. It would just be nice to have someone."

They sat in silence for a few moments and then Tosh said softly, "Ianto … please don't tell anyone. I don't want them to …" she trailed off.

Ianto smiled," Of course." He got up and proffered a hand. "Let's go find the others."

In the main hall Gwen and Owen were eating a light meal and talking quietly. Combing his hair with his fingers, he joined them. Tosh followed.

Without looking at him, Owen said casually, "How are you feeling, Ianto?"

Gwen stopped eating and stared at him, concern etched on her face.

"I'm fine, thanks," Ianto said evenly. "I was just tired."

Owen nodded and said, "We'll check you out when we get home."

Ianto didn't protest.

Gwen caught his eye then and said, "Jack's outside."

Ianto rose again and Gwen watched him as he left the room.

Outside, Ianto spotted Jack sitting silently on a bench tucked alongside the house. He gingerly made his way over, not sure of his welcome. However, Jack raised a hand in greeting and gestured for Ianto to sit next to him. A light breeze ruffled both men's hair, bringing with it the inevitable odors of humanity living in close quarters. Ianto closed his eyes, listening to the faint sounds of conversation coming from within the house, and tried to imagine he was already back at home.

Jack remarked casually, "So. Tonight, if everything goes according to plan we'll be back in the 21st century, safe and sound."

"If everything goes to plan."

"Yeah." Jack was quiet for a while and then said, "Ianto?"

"Yes, Jack?" Ianto had his eyes closed, hoping that his face was calm.

"You know what's strange?"

Ianto looked at him incredulously, and Jack hastily backtracked. "I know, everything, but that's not what I meant. I just – it's strange how the last thing I would ever say is that I needed was more time, especially more time on the slow path. But this trip, this pilgrimage, has been good for me. I needed this time to think."

Ianto looked at Jack, his expression fond in the moonlight. "I know. That was the greatest gift you ever gave me, Jack. You gave me time to think when I needed it. That's what enabled me to come back to you. I'm glad the universe gave you this time."

Jack smiled at him, reaching out to take his hand and hold it loosely. "Your tale the other day."

"Yes, Jack." Ianto braced himself, hoping that his demeanor didn't give anything away.

"I'm sorry, Ianto. I don't think I ever told you that."

"I'm sorry, too, Jack." Ianto opened his eyes. "But it was a long time ago." They sat in silence for a while staring into the past.

Then Jack turned to him, his eyes searching Ianto's face intently. "Why did you say you'll do anything for me?"

"Because that's who I am now, Jack. I'm your man." Ianto shrugged. "You are Torchwood, and I belong to Torchwood."

Jack had no answer to that and no further questions he seemed ready to ask. They both sat and enjoyed the coolness of the evening.

Finally, Jack spoke again. "Torchwood aside, do you belong to me?"

Ianto looked at the sky, studying the familiar constellations as they shone through the clouds. "Yes."

"And?"

"Gwen has been talking to me a lot about commitment," Ianto responded in a light tone.

"Well, she is getting married soon." Jack shrugged.

Ianto nodded. "In a way she's right."

Jack raised an eyebrow. "Are you asking me --."

Ianto cut him off, "No. But she's right about commitment. If this … if this is something important, something that brings meaning to right now, then it's worth committing to."

Jack looked at him, holding his hand silently, listening.

"It's worth me committing to, regardless of whether you stay or whether you go again, Jack," Ianto finished. "It's just that I'm tired of being left behind."

Jack said softly, "I won't leave you. You'll be the one who leaves me."

"That's the bitter honey, Jack. You are forever, and I'm part of the temporary universe," Ianto replied, thinking of what he had said and watching the spread of stars dust the sky, feeling the pulse of his blood moving impossibly through this dark past. "But while I'm here, I'm yours."

He was surprised when Jack slid off the bench to his knees, turning to face Ianto, leaning between Ianto's spread thighs. Jack raised his hands in an attitude of Christian prayer. "You're what I found at the end of the pilgrimage," he said mischievously.

"Get off! You were looking for the time slip, not for me," Ianto said playfully.

"Ianto, I never say it, but I'm your man, too," Jack replied, his face suddenly serious and his voice hoarse with yearning.

Ianto looked down fondly at Jack's face, surrounded by outer darkness and crowned by starlight, finding himself unable to look away or to discourage him. Then he clasped the offered palms between his own. "Yes. Like that. Do you mean it?" he whispered, not knowing just how much of a commitment he really wanted, what he was willing to give. But powerless to keep himself from asking. From seeing Jack's earnest expression when he had asked for the date and knowing that he could not say no.

"For as long as you want," replied Jack. Jack's expression was composed and serious, and Ianto felt something unknot inside him and reach forward, wanting to believe, wanting the messiness of this and the chaos and the unknown. "Even though all I can give is bitter honey, bright darkness."

"Gower again! And what are you swearing? Are you just taking mercy on me?" Ianto asked, his voice rough and low and wrung with pain.

"Mercy?" Jack laughed bitterly, sitting back on his heels. "I have never shown you mercy. All I have ever been toward you is ruthless."

"No. You showed mercy when I didn't deserve it," Ianto corrected, his voice still pained. "And you set me free." He leaned forward. "The ruthlessness was necessary."

Jack sighed and leaned forward again. "Then if I am your mercy, you are my refuge. And I'll defend that because I need it … and justice, even when it hurts us both."

"What do you offer me?" Ianto breathed, falling under his spell and bending down to kiss Jack's mouth, pulling him forward in order to reach.

"Trust in you, reliance on you, my loyal soldier," Jack whispered, close against his skin. "Faith in you. And you?"

"Trust," Ianto replied, separating Jack's palms in order to kiss them, first the left and then the right.

"And?" Jack asked softly, shivering as lips ran lightly over the grooves in his palms.

"Bitter honey," Ianto mused, wondering how he could ever hope to understand Jack when he couldn't even know his own mind. "And bright darkness."

"Ah," Jack said, smiling now. "All of that in exchange for this?" He looked down at his two hands and then back up into Ianto's face.

Ianto agreed, "Yes."

Jack leaned in and captured Ianto's lips with his own, pulling him into a warm embrace. "It's more than I deserve. I'll try not to waste any of it." Changing gears, he whispered, "It's too bad we don't have time to have a little fun right now."

The hairs on the back of Ianto's neck stood up and Jack continued, "See, you look really sexy when you're scruffy and tired and wrung out. I'd love to show you just how exciting I'm finding this look on you."

Ianto muttered hoarsely, "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah," Jack breathed into his ear and pressing close. "I feel really guilty about not throwing you down on the ground and having my way with you."

Ianto shivered, his hands clutching Jack's warm body.

Then Jack pulled back and looked him in the eye. With a wide grin, he said, "In fact, it pricketh on my conscience."

"You've been waiting to use that this whole time, haven't you?" Ianto said grumpily, shifting restlessly on the bench.

"Oh, you know I have," Jack responded happily.


End file.
